


all knights are gallant and all maids are beautiful

by janie_tangerine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: (previous two tags valid for the J/C), Abusive Relationships, Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Jaime Lannister, Genderbending, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Knights - Freeform, Male Cersei Lannister, Pregnancy, R plus L equals J, Secret Relationship, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wedding Fluff, Weddings, actually that'd be, male Brienne of Tarth, not a cersei friendly fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-24 20:44:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12020655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: Ser Byrn doesn’t smile too often, but he does now, a small, tentative grin that shows his crooked teeth anddoesreach his eyes.“My lady, if I thought you were the kind of helpless maiden knights rescue in songs all the time, I really would be a complete fool.”For a moment, she wonders,is he fucking serious.But – good gods, he is. His lovely blue eyes are staring straight into hers, and there isn’t one thing about the way he’s looking at her that suggests he’s japing. Hells, he’s still blushing. And he’s still touching her face as if he thinks she’s some kind of precious glass, which is all goddamnwrongbut at the same time feels so nice she could weep with it –Maybe, a small traitorous voice tells her,maybe those knights you used to sing about do exist after all.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> So, a long time ago someone on tumblr asked me what would people say of Jaime's character development or lack thereof if he and Cersei were actually genderswapped ie if he actually was a she and viceversa. My first thought was, 'like hell people would be saying that he's an unrepentant asshole and that he and Cersei have an absolutely loving and star-crossed relationship and they're the exact same person'. Then this season of GoT started and the discourse started again, and I thought about that ask again and then I went like, but what if I actually went for it fully, and - I might have gone for it. So.
> 
> Have 30k of 'the basics are the same except that Jaime's the lady and Brienne/Cersei are most definitely not'. Everything else has changed accordingly but I tried to keep the basics the exact same. I didn't want to tag this with Jaime/Cersei properly because I don't think it's the kind of content they want on that tag but just in case it wasn't obvious: this starts with J/C being exactly what it is in canon just genderswapped to the best of my abilities and ends up genderswapped J/B to the best of my abilities. The J/C part of it is the reason this is tagged abusive relationship (also, I don't know how to tag it but mind that the part where they have three children and Jaime doesn't get to parent them is exactly the same so thread cautiously if that kind of topic isn't your thing) + NOT SO IMPLIED but not graphic at all noncon (as in, the only sex that's described in detail is the J/B kind). Also, for anyone who might care: I'm not Cersei's greatest fan as she is and I happen to think that if she had been born a man she'd have been a _lot_ worse and that if she had been born a man _and_ ended up on the Iron Throne she'd have been a whole lot worse than that, so if anyone's a fan and not because of her horribleness just be warned this is not really Cersei stans central.
> 
> On to the usuals: they belong to GRRM, the title comes directly from the books (Brienne THANK YOU for providing insightful quotes that work perfectly for fanfic) and the only thing I own is the speculation. Also, I left Jaime and Cersei's names as in canon because they're kinda gender neutral like that, Brienne's was debated but then I settled on the obscure Welsh variation of all the male alternatives the internet suggested me, I just hope it's not too off. I'll now leave this monster here and saunter back downwards. /o\ also endless thanks to tumblr user robb-greyjoy for looking this over <3

Tyrion Lannister does _not_ remember his mother and he’s very keenly aware that _he_ is the reason why it is so.

After all, doesn’t his brother take any occasion to remind him of that very fact?

Not that Cersei ever says he misses their mother or anything of the kind. He wouldn’t. No Lannister man would ever be found alive saying such a thing – he’d die first.

Sometimes Tyrion thinks, _would she have hated me like Father does_? _Would she have regretted having me_? _How would she have been_?

He wouldn’t know the answer for the first two questions.

But sometimes he likes to think, she’d have been like his sister.

\--

Tyrion might be all of eight years old, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t take notice of things.

Mainly, how _everyone_ remarks on how similar his siblings are.

Of course they are – when it concerns their looks, he can’t disagree with that notion. It shows that they’re twins – if their hair was the same length and they wore the same clothes, it’d be hard to distinguish them, though now that they’re growing older it’s not so complicated anymore. Still. Golden hair, bright green eyes, the same skin tone, the same beauty drawn on their faces – of course they’re similar.

What others don’t know, though, is that it stops there.

He’s fairly sure that if it had been for Cersei, he’d have stayed lost in the family crypts for the remnant of his days – he was five when it happened, and it had been Jaime finding him. That trip had caused the complete ruin of her dress, and their septa hadn’t been happy, but Jaime hadn’t really minded.

Cersei has certainly never made time for him outside of reminding him of how he loathes Tyrion’s existence. Cersei has never secretly come to his room every night to read to him until he could do it for himself, and even _then_ , he never certainly showed up anyway telling him, _well, you’re ahead of me now, so why don’t you read to_ me _instead?_

Cersei never found the time to mend his clothes when he kept on ruining breeches as he grew up, Cersei never told him that if his body wouldn’t be what everyone had hoped for he might make up for it with his _mind_ , Cersei never kissed his forehead before sneaking out of his room in the middle of the night after hearing him having some nightmare (most times, concerning either Cersei or their father), Cersei never sang _Florian and Jonquil_ to him with a glint in his eyes that said he entirely found that tale charming.

Jaime, though, Jaime did _all_ of those things and more, and that’s why Tyrion wants to laugh when anyone points out how similar the twins are.

No, they’re not.

Too bad that he’s the only one who sees how painfully obvious that is.

Including _the two of them_.

\--

Admittedly, the only reason his childhood isn’t a complete disaster is his sister, and Tyrion honestly has no idea of how she can seem to get along with Cersei as well – this, when he’s young. _Very_ young.

When he grows older, though, he realizes that it’s not just _getting along_.

Admittedly, he does ask Jaime just once when he’s nine and she’s fifteen and they’re in the gardens in King’s Landing – he visits only rarely, because of course his father doesn’t want him here, and he’s mostly glad for it because it means Cersei’s not in Casterly either, but he does miss Jaime, and he tells her so before asking.

Jaime laughs. “It’s complicated,” she says. “But – he’s – we’re two parts of a whole. We’re like a mirror. Which is why there can really be no one else better. We went into this world together, and we’ll leave it together.”

Tyrion wants to ask her, _is it you talking, or is it him_? But she sounds sure of it, and she’s smiling as she says it, and Tyrion’s not so young to _not_ know that, should anyone wed his sister, they wouldn’t find her a maiden.

Still, it’s not his business, and as long as Jaime doesn’t turn into Cersei, who is he to tell her it’s a very, very bad notion?

Thing is – Jaime _could_ have turned into Cersei at any moment. Tyrion knows Cersei isn’t certainly championing Tyrion’s own cause with their sister at any other moment. But Jaime _never_ turned into Cersei.

Tyrion can only hope Father marries her off to someone else who’ll be better for her than their _brother_ ever could be and that she realizes that no, they’re really not like a mirror at all.

\--

And then Robert Baratheon rebels and Cersei kills the Mad King.

\--

Admittedly, no one knows how that went specifically.

What Tyrion knows, after spending the rebellion in Casterly, is that when Ned Stark walked inside the throne room, Cersei was sitting on the Iron Throne with a bloodied sword on his knees, and of course he was quick to claim it. Tyrion is absolutely not surprised at that turn of events – Cersei always was ambitious and he always craved power over anyone and anything in his circle

( _their sister first and foremost_ )

and so of course he would do that.

Their father is, of course, delighted to be Hand of the King again.

Tyrion is not so sure of what he makes out of being _royal_ now, not that he’s ever going to be bothered by it, even if he’s fairly sure that his brother does _not_ appreciate that Casterly might go to him now.

Anyway, moving to King’s Landing is the extent of it for _him_.

Of course, Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark are pardoned, not that Cersei could do otherwise since they’re the reason _he_ is sitting on the Iron Throne. To make up for the losses of both House Stark and Tully – after all, Ned Stark _did_ marry Catelyn Tully in place of his dead brother, but Aerys still burned the man alive along with his father, and the Tullys might not have been entirely satisfied with Catelyn Tully not marrying the Stark she was supposed to – Cersei, after a few weeks of debating and consulting, marries Lysa Tully.

Tyrion hopes it’s for show.

He also expects Jaime’s hand to be negotiated at some point. He hopes for it. Now that she’s a king’s sister, surely his sister’s hand would be coveted and surely she would find a good match now, wouldn’t she?

But it’s never, in fact, negotiated.

\--

It’s _strange_ , Tyrion thinks after a year or so passes.

It’s just unheard of. Thing is, when he and Jaime find time to spend together she’s the same as always, and she doesn’t seem too worried with the state of her unmarried condition. But – he hears people talking.

He knows the commoners like Cersei well enough because Aerys was a menace and they were all too glad to get rid of the man, but he also hears that his sister is gaining some _weird_ fame.

People talk.

 _She refuses to marry_.

 _She thinks she’s too good for the likes of anyone_.

_Lady Lannister sure scorns any suitor coming her way, doesn’t she?_

_She’s beautiful, of course, but she talks back a trifle too much, doesn’t she?_

_What is with Lady Lannister’s jokes anyway? Have you ever heard of a king’s sister joking with the City Watch?_

And fine, Jaime never was a _meek_ woman, and Tyrion honestly loves the fact that she always made him laugh at any given point even by saying very inappropriate things, and that she’d go out of her way to talk to the serving staff or –

Well, to be anything their brother is not.

Something does _not_ add up here.

Then the Queen joyously announces that she’s with child, and that she would like to spend her pregnancy in Casterly because the court is loud and noisy and takes up too much of her time. Cersei announces that his loving sister will go with the Queen to _help_ her and be her companion.

Tyrion only thinks, _since when would Jaime care for being a_ companion _to someone Cersei is having a child with_ , especially if _Jaime and Cersei have slept together since the gods know how long and Jaime seems pretty convinced that they love each other to the Seven Hells and back?_

They come back nine (miserable, for Tyrion) months later.

The child Lysa holds lovingly has _nothing_ Tully in him. Also, Tyrion notices, the Queen seems remarkably well-rested as she presents Joffrey to the crowd, and her body looks remarkably similar to the way it was before she left.

And he hasn’t seen Jaime anywhere since their return. She’s not at the presentation. Cersei said she felt sick after the trip from Casterly.

Jaime _never_ was the person to feel sick while riding a horse.

He goes to her chambers, figuring he’d greet her.

“I won’t say anything,” is the first thing that’s out of his mouth when he walks into the room and finds his sister lying on the bed, a few pounds heavier and with her nightgown stained in milk.

“I knew you wouldn’t,” she says, sounding tired.

He locks the door.

“He’s yours,” Tyrion says.

“The Queen, uh, let’s say she cannot conceive,” Jaime whispers as Tyrion moves closer to the side of the bed.

Tyrion is starting to understand _why_ Cersei would choose a Queen who _cannot conceive_ out of all the possible noblewomen he could wed.

“But – she doesn’t seem too sad at the prospect of –”

“ _Don’t_ say it,” Jaime interrupts him. “It’s all right. It’s – how it has to be.”

“Jaime –”

“ _He_ certainly cannot start a dynasty openly saying _I_ am the one he wants to bear his children now, can he?”

She’s smiling, though. Tyrion feels sick.

“I guess not,” he finally says. “But – don’t you mind it?”

Jaime shrugs. “Of course I will be able to see _my son_ , Tyrion, don’t be daft. Now is not a good idea, I agree, but soon I will.”

Tyrion honestly, _deeply_ hopes that she’s right. “So that’s why you aren’t –”

“Cersei has convinced Father. I don’t think he _knows_ , but he’ll leave me alone for now. And anyway, his son is the king, why would he need me _wed_ for any alliance?”

She sounds so sure of it, so _hopeful_ , so happy that even if they can’t love each other openly they’ll be able to do it _somehow_.

As much as Tyrion loathes the idea of his brother’s scheme working, if it makes her happy, then –

He just hopes Jaime’s right.

\--

Turns out, _he_ was right.

By the time Jaime’s back to her usual shape and no one could tell _she_ was pregnant, the child is with his _mother_ (the one everyone thinks is his mother, anyhow) every other moment, or with the wet nurse.

“Jaime,” Tyrion tries to reason with her later, “I don’t – I mean, I’m not seeing you _seeing_ that baby.”

Jaime just smiles sadly. “Well, I mean, Cersei made a fairly good point.”

 _Then_ , Tyrion learns of _why_ Lysa Tully can’t have children, after all.

“I can imagine why she’d want to be with him all the time,” Jaime says. “It’s fine. It will happen at some point. Let her be happy for a while. _I_ know who’s the mother, after all.”

Tyrion, at this point, only hopes that Cersei is happy with one son.

\--

Then, a few years later, Jaime _and_ the Queen both disappear to Casterly Rock.

Tyrion is not surprised when they come back with a healthy baby girl with golden hair and green eyes.

Tyrion is not surprised when Jaime gives him the exact same speech when he visits her.

Tyrion is also not surprised when, same as Joffrey, Jaime not only doesn’t even get to hold the baby in public at any point whatsoever (nor in private, for that matter), but she just – Cersei tries to keep her away from Myrcella as much as possible. It’s obvious.

Of course, Cersei doesn’t want anyone to suspect.

Tyrion doesn’t push the subject. But he can see that this time, Jaime’s eyes are clouded when she talks about whatever Cersei’s promised concerning Myrcella.

A few years pass, as well. Tyrion doesn’t see Jaime teaching her daughter _anything_ , nor bringing her for a stroll in the gardens or anything of the kind.

What he sees is Joffrey growing up as the most spoiled, insufferable brat in existence and Myrcella growing up sweet and gentle for reasons he can’t pinpoint, except that maybe it can be explained with _her parents only give a damn for their precious male firstborn_ and she spends her time with better septas than he had and with _him_ (it’s ridiculous _he_ gets to spend more time with his niece than _her actual mother_ ), but Jaime’s nowhere near them. Sometimes, she goes to Casterly for months, and Tyrion knows it’s because Cersei’s sending her.

People keep on talking.

_Lady Lannister is maybe getting too old to afford being unwed._

_Lady Lannister likes her drink maybe a bit too much._

_Lady Lannister can only get away with replying rudely to people just because she’s a king’s sister._

_Lady Lannister is more at ease talking to lowly soldiers than people her own stead._

_Lady Lannister might be too old for_ anything _very soon._

Tyrion can only think, _to think that she would have made a wonderful mother_ , given how she was with _him_ , and hopes that the third child never comes.

\--

When the third child inevitably comes, nine months after both the Queen and Jaime are off to Casterly, Tyrion pays attention to what goes on in great detail. Jaime, of course, isn’t there for the presentation either.

And when he goes to look for her, he hears sobbing from outside the door.

He knocks and lets himself in gently.

“Look at it,” Jaime croaks, through her tears, “at least it’s the only person I actually wanted to see in this goddamned castle.”

Gods. She’s been crying for _a long time_ , from what he sees, and –

Is there a purple bruise on her cheek?

“Jaime, _what in the seven hells_?”

“I – I told him I couldn’t do it again,” she sobs. “I mean – that I understood it concerning Joffrey and Myrcella, but – but this one, I wanted – I wanted to be in his life, somehow.”

“Let me guess, he said no,” Tyrion sighs.

“He did. I might have insisted.”

Tyrion helplessly raises his too tiny hand to touch the bruise on her cheek – fuck. For the umpteenth time, he curses the fact that he can do absolutely _nothing_ for her, not when their father obviously relishes power more than his daughter’s happiness, and not when Cersei would have his head on a spike in moments if he only hinted that he _knows_.

“You deserve better,” he finally says.

“I don’t know,” Jaime sighs, “and anyway, it’s not the point.”

“ _How_?”

She laughs. “Tyrion, I’m four and twenty, I’ve already borne someone _three_ children and you think I don’t hear people talking? Everyone thinks I think I’m too good for _anyone_ , and who’d even have me at this point? And even if someone did, do you think _Cersei_ would agree with it?”

No, Tyrion has to admit. _No_ , Cersei wouldn’t.

“He doesn’t own you,” Tyrion says helplessly, knowing that the truth is not so simple.

“Maybe he doesn’t,” Jaime replies, “but he surely thinks he does. Too bad I thought it was mutual for this long,” she says, and Tyrion can only hug her, because what the hell else should he do?

Jaime holds him back.

Tyrion doesn’t like _at all_ how things are shaping themselves to be.

\--

Too bad that he’s right.

Of course, no one _outside_ knows, but by the time Tommen’s five and it’s obvious he’s taken after his _real_ mother that he doesn’t have a clue of, Tyrion is sure that all of the Kingsguard must know.

If only, because at some point Jaime decides that Cersei can’t assume that she’ll let it slide that he took _three_ children for her. Tyrion is sure they argued once. He’s also sure she tried to tell Cersei that if _that_ was how he thought it was going to be, then her bed was off limits.

He’s fairly sure the entire Red Keep heard what happened after.

Of course, not a single person in the Kingsguard even dares knocking on the door.

Tyrion makes sure to glare at Ser Trant as much as he can get away with when he slips into Jaime’s room a while later, figuring Cersei won’t be back anytime soon.

His sister looks like someone who’s not crying just because she has no tears left to spare.

“They were right outside, weren’t they?” She spits the moment Tyrion locks the door.

“They’re still outside.”

Jaime snorts. “Of course they are. I’m sorry,” she says then.

“Why are you apologizing to _me_?”

“For ever filling your head with dumb songs about knights when we were children. Sure as the seven hells _now_ I know it was all bullshit,” she says, her voice breaking on the last word.

“Jaime –”

“What’s _honorable_ or knightly about letting him do – what he’s just done and saying _nothing_ about it?” She sobs. “And that’s not everything I should apologize for,” she goes on.

“Jaime, you don’t have to –”

“I have to because _he_ treated you like dirt all those years and I did nothing because I thought he might change with time, and then you tried to tell me it’d end badly and I didn’t even hear you out, and I could read on your face that you hated him. Turns out, you were fucking right.”

Tyrion really wishes he had been wrong instead.

“I – Jaime, you’re sounding like it’s nothing you can change.”

“And _how_ would I? Do you think that if I tell Father I wish to leave or to marry _anyone_ else, he would find me a husband? Especially when like _this_ he has all he wants or needs? And you think Cersei would even consider it?” She laughs. It’s a very bitter laugh. “No, I really don’t think I can change anything. Too bad. I made my bed, I’ll lie in it.”

Tyrion takes her hand in his, for how little it can do, and tries to think of possible alternatives.

Too bad that Jaime’s right – there _aren’t_.

\--

He spends three years trying to come up with some way to help his sister out.

For all his wit and intelligence, he comes up with nothing.

It’s already _strange_ that she’s at court always but stayed unwed, and she’s right on one point – no one wouldn’t put two and two together when finding out that not only she’s not a maiden, but she’s _borne someone else children_. Never mind that it would put her children in danger and while Joffrey’s honestly a menace if he ever inherits the throne, Myrcella and Tommen don’t deserve it.

Cersei _does_ go to Jaime’s bed regularly.

The first few times, there’s arguing and screaming and the sounds of broken glasses echoing through the hallway – of course, the Kingsguard men outside the room don’t lift one finger.

Then, there’s no arguing or broken glasses anymore, but what Tyrion notices is that his sister’s eyes aren’t bright green anymore, and she stops paying much attention to her appearance –

That is, until there’s another screaming match.

At the next dinner, Jaime’s dress is pristine clean and her hair is perfectly styled and she’s wearing Lannister red and gold, and she still cuts a striking figure.

Too bad that there’s no light in her eyes at all.

\--

Her eyes are still dull when she turns two and thirty.

Tyrion hears people _talk_ at the feast for the king’s birthday, and his sister’s as well, of course.

_Two and thirty and still unwed._

_Must really be a stuck-up cunt, that one._

_Believe me, she is, she’ll stare down anyone looking her way._

_Well, she’s not_ that _bad looking, but who’d even bear anyone healthy children at this point?_

_And she definitely drinks too much, it’s not worth the bother._

_Especially if then she’ll just say something that she only finds funny._

_Indeed, she has a mouth that belongs to fucking sailors, not noblewomen_.

Tyrion only thinks, _if only you knew._

What he knows is that never mind _Jaime_ , he’s almost five and twenty and sure as the seven hells neither Cersei nor their father has breached the subject with _him_.

He thinks that he might try to find a sellsword to watch his back these days, because he does _not_ like the way they’re both looking at him.

\--

And then the Smiling Knight is slain just outside King’s Landing.

By _one_ lone hedge knight.

Thing is, the Smiling Knight has been a menace around the area for months, but of course Cersei never bothered to send anyone after the man – after all, _one_ insane bandit isn’t enough to bother the Kingsguard or to send men.

And then they get word that this young nobleman from Tarth who – turns out – is some nephew of Duncan the Tall of everlasting fame, at least when it concerns the Kingsguard’s history, and that he went specifically looking for their bandit, and killed him in a matter of minutes, and the smallfolk _really_ love this man, which Tyrion can only understand too well.

“Cersei,” their father tells him when they receive the news during dinner, “maybe you should invite this _young man_ in court. If he really slew that bandit and _the people_ love him, it wouldn’t hurt. And who knows, we might need competent men on our side or in the Kingsguard.”

Cersei considers it. “Well, it cannot hurt to please the smallfolk,” he says. “Find this prodigy of swordfighting and invite him along. Mayhaps I could even hold a tourney. The smallfolk _love_ tourneys.”

Jaime says nothing.

She does talk back a lot to _everyone else_ , these days, but not to Cersei.

Tyrion thinks that he would murder his brother more because he turned his beautiful, loving, _lively_ sister into a shadow of herself than because Cersei was terrible to _him_.

\--

The first thing Tyrion thinks when Ser Byrn of Tarth – or so their young knight introduces himself – walks into the throne room, is that the man is _tall_ , for being eight and ten.

He’s also remarkably _not_ attractive the way knights in songs are.

Of course, his body looks the part – he’s at least six feet and maybe a bit more, has large shoulders and muscular arms and he holds up his shield and sword as if they weigh nothing. His hands have large, rough fingers, and there’s really nothing to say when it comes to _that_.

His face, though –

His moderately long hair is a tone of blonde that’s more straw than gold and falls over his neck fairly straight, not in Cersei’s neat waves, just to make one comparison. He has a large mouth, maybe too much, and he has a few crooked teeth, and his nose _definitely_ was broken more than once. Hazards of the job, Tyrion imagines.

The only good thing he has going for him when it comes to his face are the eyes, Tyrion thinks. They’re large, and of a lovely, pure shade of blue, and most of all, he looks _genuinely_ awed at his surroundings, and when Cersei welcomes him in a tone that’s somewhat slightly mocking he doesn’t seem to grasp _that_ , and he sounds _really_ honored when he says he’s flattered they even chose to invite him here for such a small service.

 _That’s someone who still has to learn knights aren’t all they’re cracked up to be_ , Tyrion thinks. Then again, from what he knows, the last son of Selwyn Tarth has a brother who’s all set to inherit and a sister promised to a Baratheon, so maybe being a hedge knight like his grandfather did look like a better prospect than going to the Wall or playing advisor.

Tyrion is wondering how long will he last in this nest of vipers –

But then he introduces himself to the Queen, and _their_ children (Tommen and Myrcella are impressed, Joffrey isn’t), and to the Hand of the King –

And then Jaime’s the next one in line.

Tyrion was paying attention just because he’s paid attention to everything until now.

But then _Ser Byrn of Tarth_ curtsies in front of his sister, tells her he’s very pleased to meet such a beautiful lady and kisses her hand, all very properly, and he doesn’t look at her once as if he wasn’t meaning _any_ of that.

Tyrion’s so baffled that he barely registers that the man actually kneels down to his height to introduce himself when it’s his turn.

\--

They have to give him a good spot at dinner, of course.

Tyrion is sitting in front of Jaime. Their new acquaintance is sitting next to her.

“I apologize in advance if my sister is a poor conversationalist,” Cersei tells Ser Byrn a moment before they sit down.

“I – I’ve been told I am a poor one myself if I am not discussing swordfighting, Your Grace. I am sure I will not mind either way.”

For the first few minutes no one speaks on that side of the table – Cersei is too busy discussing _something_ with his father or the Master of Coin to pay attention to it.

Then –

“Lad, you look like sitting next to me will set you on fire,” Jaime tells him. “It’s an entirely unfounded worry.”

“I – I wasn’t thinking that, my lady,” Ser Byrn replies, his cheeks turning deep red. “It’s just – you heard me before. I really am a poor conversationalist if I am not discussing swords or the likes. I figured I would not bore you.”

Jaime snorts before she takes a sip of wine. “Swords might be a fascinating subject. Please, do tell me how you slew a bandit _and_ his followers all on your own, ser. I should like some entertainment.”

Ser Byrn takes a sip from his cup and tells her – it’s fairly straightforward, Tyrion thinks, but it’s the first time in months he’s seen Jaime listening to anything with interest. And when she asks questions, it’s obvious she had been listening to what she had been told before.

“That’s remarkable,” Jaime finally tells him. “But pray, _why_ would you do it in the first place?”

Byrn shrugs. “I took my vows. I swore to protect the weak. It’s what I chose to do, and I keep the vows I swear.”

Jaime drowns a laugh in her glass, Tyrion can see that she did it to spare the poor kid’s feelings, but he seems to understand that something’s not right.

“Uh, my lady, not to pry, but – is something amiss?” He asks, as if he actually _wants to know_.

Good gods –

“No,” Jaime lies, “but I should be glad to hear whichever other feats you accomplished, ser. This one was fairly entertaining.”

Good gods, Tyrion thinks as the man blushes harder and starts another story about this other less dangerous bandit he delivered to justice near Horn Hill, _maybe_ –

Maybe Jaime can’t see it, not yet, but if the guy doesn’t actually buy what songs about knights sell, Tyrion will be thrice damned.

And the man is _blushing_ as he talks to his sister.

Tyrion doesn’t really think he believes in gods, but _something_ threw in his way what looks like the _only_ knight worthy of such a name in all of Westeros and Tyrion is so _not_ going to brush it off and wait for the man to go back to travel around Westeros, having adventures slaying bandits.

He’s really fucking _not_.

After all, no one ever said Florian was _beautiful_ now, did they?

\--

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to come up with some elaborate scheme to keep Ser Byrn around court.

For one, he’s _indeed_ very popular with the smallfolk. Of course he is. He actually _distributed in between them_ whatever money he found when he defeated the Smiling Knight, and apparently, there are a lot of wrongs to be righted in King’s Landing, and he’s glad to take care of as many of them as he can manage.

And while Cersei’s hardly what anyone would call foresighted, Tywin Lannister _is_ such, and it’s no mystery that while Cersei’s certainly not _reviled_ as a king, not everyone likes how quick he is to sentence people to death, nor how _Joffrey_ has passed sentences a few times when Cersei allowed him to _come to the hearings_ – because after all he’ll be a man grown in two years, he should start now.

Not many people appreciate that the City Watch has a heavy hand when it comes to dealing with people who don’t pay their taxes or commit fairly minor crimes, nor how _easy_ it is to end up at the Wall for a minor offense. It’s not _enough_ for people to truly _hate_ him – they still remember Aerys, after all – but certainly the court housing a paragon of valor and virtue such as Ser Byrn of Tarth cannot hurt, and while Cersei doesn’t _like_ it when their father suggests that they should keep the man around and possibly convince him to join the Kingsguard, he accepts out of sheer convenience.

That doesn’t mean the man’s around all the time, of course. He has smallfolk to protect and so on. And after that first evening, Tyrion notices that Cersei makes sure that he’s not sitting anywhere near Jaime.

Thing is, Tyrion is sure that it has nothing to do with Cersei being worried that those two might find something to converse about and more with the fact that he doesn’t want Jaime to talk to _anyone_ that’s not related to her, period.

\--

Of course, their valiant knight is overjoyed to accept the offer to stay indefinitely at court.

Who _wouldn’t_ , when being in the king’s service is what most people would wish for, and the third son of a medium-sized House wouldn’t really have any reason to be here otherwise?

Tyrion doesn’t miss Jaime’s smirk of disgust as she watches the man accept.

\--

That same evening, he insists with Jaime to take a stroll around the gardens – she should get some fresh air once in a while, and lately she isn’t.

Jaime sighs and follows him out, and fine, Tyrion _did_ know Ser Byrn of Tarth likes to take a stroll around the gardens after dinner, too, and he was sort of hoping they’d run into each other, and maybe he does ask the man to join their small group even as Jaime glares at him.

“So,” Jaime asks, “how are you enjoying your stay, _Ser_?”

“Oh, well, it’s – I couldn’t hope for more, my lady.”

“Really.”

“I, I only was doing my duty when I went after that bandit. I wasn’t expecting rewards or anything of the kind.”

“Of course you were doing your _duty_ ,” Jaime says.

“I – I was?”

“Gods, why in the seven hells are you even _here_?” Jaime suddenly says.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Lad, let me give you _one_ piece of advice. You seem – better than most so-called _hedge knights_ , if anything because you fucking mean what you say. If you want to keep on meaning what you say, get out of here or you won’t do it for long.”

And with that, she curtsies harshly – and definitely _not_ meaning it – before taking her leave.

Neither of them says a thing.

“What – what did she mean?” Byrn asks Tyrion helplessly.

“I think,” Tyrion replies, “that she just wanted to warn you that courts aren’t the best place for your line of work.”

“But being in the Kingsguard is the highest honor –”

“Maybe in your grandfather’s times,” Tyrion sighs. “Don’t sweat it. You shall find out soon, I think. Now, would you care to escort me to my chambers while the night’s still young?”

“Of course, my lord.”

 _At least someone other than Jaime respects me in this castle_ , Tyrion thinks. But _he_ ’s not the person who should gain the man’s respect.

\--

Nothing of import happens for a couple of weeks.

Ser Byrn goes out fighting peasants’ battles during the day, Jaime goes out of her way to avoid _everyone_ , if you looked at Cersei and his queen no one would even suspect of what goes on behind the curtains, and Tyrion makes sure that his sister’s supply of moon tea is stocked even if she might not need it.

(He really needs to find a sellsword to watch his back – he can’t keep on going to every brothel in King’s Landing to ask for some without people noticing at some point, and patience if once in a while he also takes advantage of the services provided. He has _needs_ and given how closely he’s watched in the Red Keep he can’t bring whores there now except once in a while, can he?)

And then someone tries to poison Joffrey.

 _Tries_ being the key word because Lysa somehow declares that her son’s food smells different than hers and they find a poor maid to taste it first.

Tyrion, later, arranges for a _lot_ of money to be given to the poor soul’s family, given how she died without anyone lifting a finger to help her.

Of course, Cersei does _not_ let it pass – before the week is over, at least fifteen servants lose their head for somehow being involved in it, even if most probably they were _not_. Tyrion doesn’t think _servants_ would try out such a scheme, not when they’d be the first to be suspected and they would know it. Regardless, everyone who touched that food from kitchen to the table dies and Tyrion can’t help noticing that Ser Tarth does _not_ look too happy to see it.

But he says nothing, of course. What should he even say?

Then, three days after the last head rolls, a maid brings him a note from Jaime.

It reads, _bring me a sharp knife when you come visit. And come soon_.

Tyrion doesn’t like it, but goes that same evening and brings the knife.

He’s entirely not surprised to see that his sister’s lip is split and her left hand bandaged.

“What happened?” Tyrion asks, knowing the answer already.

“He wants another son,” Jaime replies, her voice dull. “Of course he does. _In case the next attempt on Joffrey’s life is successful_.”

“Let me guess, you said no.”

“I did. And it was no use. Tyrion, I need that knife.”

“Jaime, I hope you aren’t thinking of –”

She laughs. It’s bitter and _wrong_ and not at all the same genuine, sparkly laugh that used to leave her lips when they were children. “I have too much self-respect to kill myself, little brother, nor to give him that satisfaction. No, of course I’m not thinking _that_. I merely want to teach Cersei a small lesson.”

Tyrion isn’t _too_ convinced, but he hands her the small knife nonetheless.

“Thank you,” Jaime says. Then she starts braiding her long, golden hair, swiftly and quickly. By the time she’s done, it reaches the small of her back.

She stands up, looks at herself in the mirror, then grabs her braid with her injured left hand and the knife with the right.

And then Tyrion understands, and for a moment he wants to tell her, _no_ , don’t do it, he won’t like it –

Jaime breathes in and cuts the braid in one swift motion.

“See how well he likes _his fucking mirror_ now,” she says.

Then she goes towards the fireplace in the room, which was already lit, and throws the braid in the flames.

“He won’t like it,” Tyrion warns her.

“Oh, I _know_ he won’t.” Jaime’s smile is not pretty at all. “That doesn’t mean he _owns_ me, though, does he? And please, I shall need a _lot_ of moon tea from now on.”

“Jaime, using _too much_ of it cannot be good for –”

“Tyrion, I am _not_ giving him another child if it kills me or makes me barren. There’s not much I can do as it is, but _this_ , I can.”

That afternoon, he sneaks out to get the moon tea.

On the way back, some thief tries to kill him, and the one reason he doesn’t actually die is that a sellsword stabs the man in the back and tells Tyrion that he had recognized him and figured that Lannisters always pay their debts, so he had all to gain by saving his hide.

The man’s name is Bronn and Tyrion is _extremely_ quick in taking him in his service – he did need a sellsword, after all.

The next day, Jaime doesn’t show up for lunch.

Nor for dinner.

Nor the next, or the next.

Tyrion goes to visit her on the third day.

“He didn’t like it,” she confirms as she grins the first, _real_ smile Tyrion’s seen on her on years.

The fact that her bottom lip is swollen because someone backhanded her right over it doesn’t change that.

Now if only it wasn’t a _horrible_ reason to smile for real, they’d be all set, wouldn’t they?

\--

The next week, Tyrion has another batch of moon tea to deliver.

Too bad that the moment he steps foot on his sister’s floor, he hears screaming coming from her room.

Ser Meryn Trant and Ser Boros Blount are standing outside the room as if they’re fucking statues, of course –

And then he hears someone running up the stairs.

Tyrion stops Ser Tarth from running straight to Jaime’s room.

“Lord Lannister,” Ser Tarth hisses, “let me go, I –”

“I know what you’re hearing,” Tyrion sighs, “and if you went forward, you’d find two Kingsguard _knights_ stopping you.”

To his credit, the blood completely drains from the man’s face. “But – but – _why_? Whoever’s in with her – they’re sworn to protect the King’s family. They should protect _her_.”

“Ser Byrn,” Tyrion says, “you’re quite right, but do tell me, how does that work if the person she needs protection from _is the King_?”

It takes a good minute for the implication to sink in. “You must be japing,” Ser Byrn says.

“I am, sadly, not.”

He can see ser Byrn’s face go from surprise to horror, which is most probably a good thing in this circumstance.

“But – how – it cannot –”

“Ser, it’s a long story and not one I have the rights to share with you. _She_ should be the one doing it and I won’t take _that_ from her, too. I sadly am not in a position to do anything except provide her with what she needs, and believe me, I wish I could do more, but when you have to hire sellswords because you suspect that your brother might want you dead, you’ll realize how hard it is.”

“Your _brother_ wants you dead?”

“Always has, but I don’t think he relishes the prospect of me inheriting the Rock. Anyway, do you want to be useful?”

“Of – of course I want to! It’s – that’s not – I can’t –”

“Calm down, lad. Very well. Now we shall wait for my brother to take his leave, and then you shall take this,” he says, handing Ser Byrn his package of moon tea, “and you will tell her I couldn’t bring it today but I sent you in my stead. You will make sure she brews it, unless she throws you out of the room first. And you will realize what she meant when she told you this place was bad for the likes of you.”

To his credit, the man merely nods and takes the moon tea without batting an eyelid.

It seems like a month until Cersei leaves the room, perfectly dressed, and brings the two arseholes with him.

“There,” Tyrion says, “no one will bother you for now. Please do go ahead.”

“Very well,” Ser Byrn says, and heads straight for the door.

Tyrion thinks of staying around and eavesdrop, but –

No. Jaime deserves better than that. If she wants to, she’ll tell him.

For now, he can just hope that things work out the way he hopes to.


	2. II

“My lady?”

For a moment Jaime doesn’t recognize the voice. Shouldn’t Tyrion be here, or –

The door opens.

Of course it’s _him_.

“Your – your brother said he couldn’t come today and –”

“Get in already and lock the door, I know what you’re carrying and no one should hear,” she sighs, figuring that she’ll have to endure another showing of pristine knightly virtues that will be eventually useful for no one.

Ser Byrn locks the door and delivers the moon tea into her hands, and she _knows_ he’s taking in the way she looks.

Poor excuse for it.

Her nightgown is torn, her hair is dreadfully short and badly cut, not that she cares – actually she’d chop it _all_ off if she could, just out of spite – for once there’s no visible bruising on her face but there’s on her arms and her side, and if he heard, there’s no point in pretending.

“Come on,” she snaps, “say it.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Say what you’re thinking. I _know_ what it is. Do you think I’m not aware that you might have _opinions_ about what you just heard?”

“I do have opinions, my lady,” he says. “First of all, that Ser Trant and Ser Blount aren’t fit for their position.”

“ _What_?” That was _not_ what she had expected.

“I don’t know why – what’s behind this,” he says, gesturing awkwardly at her and the bed and at her again. “But I know that standing there while hearing what was going on is _not_ what being a knight is about, and it should not matter that the perpetrator is the king.”

“They’re sworn to him, of course it matters. Didn’t you know? The Kingsguard is the epitome of hypocrisy and of taking vows very, very literally. And it’s not as if they can say _anything_ , not when he’d have them killed on the spot should they utter a word.”

“They swore a vow,” Ser Byrn says, with maybe too much vehemence. “They should be ready to die for it.”

“And that’s the entirety of your _opinions_ , ser?”

“Should I have more?”

“You said _first of all_. And I know you must have one on the fact that my _brother_ is the only person I ever bedded.”

“It did not sound like you were willing,” he says.

“Now? Hell, no. Once upon a time? I might’ve been. What, does it change your mind?” She had seen his eyes go wide in surprise, and she expects his face to turn disgusted every other moment.

“What matters to me is that you are not willing _now_ , my lady. And – I should be glad to be of service to you, any way you might deem fit.”

She huffs. “Then you should just _leave_ and go back doing what you’re good at, which is, helping the smallfolk. Staying here for any prolonged amount of time would certainly tarnish your pretty ideals, Ser, and honestly, the commoners might not like that.”

“My lady, given that I have a feeling that no one else except your younger brother might be willing to be of _service_ to you, it will be any way you might deem fit, _except_ for that.”

It’s – it’s just – Jaime _has_ to smile, some, in spite of herself. “You really are _that_ stubborn, aren’t you?”

“I did not take my vows for the fun of it, my lady.”

 _That I can see_ , she thinks. She doesn’t send him out as she calls for a maid and brews her tea when she’s brought hot water. She drinks enough of it that if Cersei planted any seed in her, it should never flourish, and good riddance.

“I’m all right,” she finally says after they spent too much time saying nothing. “You can go. If there’s further _need_ of you, you shall know.”

“Very well,” Ser Byrn says, “then I shall leave. _My lady_.”

And then he kisses the back of her hand before bowing and leaving, closing the door softly behind him.

 _Seven hells_ , Jaime thinks, _is he for real?_

Maybe he is.

Too bad that he’s also _too late_.

\--

When she finally is presentable to show herself in public again – the hair will of course make people raise eyebrows at least, but it wouldn’t do to have people ask themselves why there are bruises on her face, right? – she’s ready for the usual talk behind her back.

Indeed, it’s not really anything she has to wait for.

The moment people see her, they start whispering, of course they do.

_What has she done to her hair._

_She must have lost her wits._

_Now she really wouldn’t find anyone to take her if not for her name_.

What do they know? Jaime would laugh at all of them and in their damned faces, because they know absolutely nothing and she cut off her fucking thrice-damned hair because she _hasn’t_ lost her wits. Myrcella and Tommen _do_ ask her if something’s wrong, bless them, and she says something about lice and gets through the entire conversation without screaming _of course_ youtwo _would_.

Lysa glares at her from behind the children’s shoulders. Of course she does.

_Because they’re mine and as much as now they’re more yours, you cannot forget it, can you?_

Once, she had felt bad for her. Enough to justify to herself _giving two children up to her_.

Once.

Now she only hopes that all that moon tea makes her fucking barren so she doesn’t have to live through _another_ child taken from her without even having the time to look at them properly. Cersei confirms the lice story – of course he does, and isn’t it fun that he doesn’t even want to _look_ at her while he takes her even if their hair are the same length and Jaime _really_ is his mirror now? – and she goes through the same bloody, horrible dinner during which she feels like using her fork to stab half of the table, starting with the fucking Kingsguard.

Now she understands why Tyrion sometimes said he wouldn’t shed a tear should Cersei and Father die.

Now she really fucking does.

She eats. She excuses herself, figuring that no one will look for her and that Cersei will not come tonight – he usually doesn’t risk coming to her _too often_.

She walks through the main hall, where everyone who isn’t named Lannister or is part of the small council is dining.

And then –

“Look at that bitch, she really thought she was too good for anyone who’d still ask for her hand,” some arsehole says, and it’s nothing unusual –

“Ser,” she hears Ser Byrn answer, “you’re speaking of a highborn lady. The _King’s sister_. I suggest you keep your mouth shut.”

No one from the main table hears it, they’re too far, but –

Jaime quickly walks away and hides behind the first column.

“ _What_?” The arsehole says.

And then Ser Byrn puts a hand around the man’s throat. “I said,” he goes on, “I suggest _you keep your mouth shut_. Understood?”

The man nods at once and Ser Byrn lets him be, going back to his food.

Jaime doesn’t know why her heart is suddenly beating a _lot_ faster as she walks up the stairs.

But it _is_.

\--

“Ser,” she tells him the next time she runs into him in the gardens, “you don’t _need_ to defend my honor or anything of the kind.”

“I don’t _need_ to,” he agrees, “but what if I _want_ to?”

She shrugs. “It’s useless. The entire realm has decided I think I’m too good for any other man and that I lost my wits a long time ago.”

“Well, I do not care for what _the entire realm_ thinks, my lady.”

 _Shit_ , Jaime realizes as she looks at him, _shit_ , _he really fucking means it._

The larger part of her says, _he’s going to get sorely disappointed_.

A smaller part says, _at least someone doesn’t care._

\--

Her brother comes again, of course.

And again.

And _again_.

After the third time Ser Byrn shows up with his package of moon tea, muttering something about having gone to get it himself, and she bursts out laughing. “I should hope you enjoyed your trip then,” Jaime tells him as she brews the damned thing.

“I – oh. _No_ ,” he replies, his face going red in a way that’s almost endearing. “I mean, I wouldn’t – I just got the tea.”

“You _could_ enjoy it, you know. No one stops you,” she says, shrugging.

“I – I know, but that’s not – I would like to think that the first time I bed someone, she’s willing, not _paid_ for it.”

Right. He’s _hopeless_ , isn’t –

“And I know I am hardly a pleasure to look at,” he shrugs. “But it’s fine. It’s not what I think of most of the time.”

 _What_. Fine, he’s hardly handsome, no ways to go about it, but it’s just his _face_. As far as his _body_ goes, there’s nothing to complain, and honestly, he’s a competent knight and he’s as decent as it goes and he comes with a good title, if not with an island. It should be plenty enough for any smart woman without exceedingly high ambitions, and smart women learn to not give a fuck about looks when it comes to having a good marriage.

“Ser, I think a lot of women would be willing to ignore that your face might not be a pleasure to look at.”

“Perhaps,” he agrees, “but I wouldn’t want it to be some kind of transaction.”

He’s _really that fucking hopeless_ , Jaime thinks.

“I suppose you will find time to change your mind when you realize love songs aren’t all they seem,” she sighs.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t – don’t mind me. That was fairly cruel of me,” she sighs, sipping her tea. It _was_ cruel. The lad has been here for a long time and he still hasn’t given up on his bloody oath, and maybe she doesn’t want to be the person who turns him into the cynical arsehole _she_ has become.

“Did you think it was – it was the same with _him_?” Ser Byrn asks softly, and he’s just so – so earnest and he’s sounding as if he’s not judging her for sharing her brother’s bed for years, and –

And she’s so _tired_ of never talking about it to anyone. Because of course she couldn’t. Not with Tyrion, either – he didn’t deserve _that_ on top of everything else.

“It never was _not_ ,” she says softly. “We grew up together. We were always together. It just sounded right when he said we were two halves of a whole. It _always_ did when he said we should die together the way we lived together. I can’t even remember how old we were when we kissed the first time. And it just – made sense. I guess. It made sense for a hell of a long time. And I just – I never was with anyone else. But there was no reason to. Because _he_ was there.” She sighs. “And then I bore him three children and I barely even talk to them because that was his _agreement_ with the Queen and if anyone found out, we’d all die. And you know what he said when I told him he _could_ try to have some with his precious bride, not that I’d have minded, as long as I could keep one of mine without saying who the father was?”

“That – it would have brought too much shame to the family?”

“That, too, but – it was not the first problem. The first problem was that _no one else was worthy of bearing his children because I was his other half_.”

It _almost_ sounded romantic, back in the day.

It _would_ have, when they were younger.

But it happened when she was pregnant with Tommen, not _before_.

“It’s – it’s _interesting_ , finding out someone only ever saw you as _an extension of himself_ ,” she blurts, for the first time in years – hell, she’s never told that to _anyone_ , same as she never told anyone else something that she will bring down to the bloody grave.

She’s horrified to hear in her own voice that she’s _crying_.

She almost startles when a rough, large hand touches her shoulder. “My lady,” Ser Byrn says, looking at her with those large, blue eyes that couldn’t most probably lie if they paid him to, “I think I have seen enough of you and him to know that you’re not an extension of your brother or no one else. The only thing you have in common are the looks.”

She wipes at her eyes, hoping that she can avoid embarrassing herself any further in front of him. “At least someone thinks that,” she sobs.

“You’re an immensely better person,” he keeps on, sounding so _sure_ of it she almost wants to believe him. “And you don’t deserve this.”

“I don’t think that’s the point, but thank you nonetheless.”

Ser Byrn just _looks_ at her. And then –

“I’ll ask the king to accept me into the Kingsguard.”

“ _What_?” She asks, her voice turning horrified.

“I cannot do much from _here_. But if I’m in the guard maybe –”

Fuck it.

Fuck it to hell and back. She finishes her tea, slams the cup on the table and grabs his arms, her nails digging into his muscles, and never mind if she hurts him. She needs him to understand that this is _not_ negotiable.

“Ser,” she hisses, “if you value my opinion _at all_ , you will listen to me now.”

“I – I value your opinion, of course.”

“Then do _not_ ever do it. The Kingsguard is good for nothing, and _always_ was fucking good for nothing. They never raised a finger for me, _all right_ , but – oh, well, I might as well let you know.”

“Let me know _what_?”

She laughs. “What do you know of the Mad King’s death?”

“… That your brother slew him?”

She laughs.

If only.

“No,” she says, “ _I_ did.”

His eyes go so wide it’d almost be comical. She digs her nails in further.

“The mad bastard wanted to set the entire city on fire. I heard his maester trying to dissuade him and die for it. All of us were hostages in the castle, of course, but we were more or less free to go around. Me more than Cersei, since no one thought I was a danger. I went to find Ser Whent, and he said he couldn’t raise arms against his bloody king. _Not even if he plans on blowing King’s Landing in a cloud of wildfire_ , I asked him, and he said _he_ wouldn’t die a kingslayer if he had to. At which I said all right, good thing _I_ wasn’t a knight, then, and left him there. I found a sword – it wasn’t too hard, admittedly – I walked right into the throne room and stabbed the mad bastard in the back, and good riddance it was. Too bad I was not in time to do the same to fucking Gregor Clegane, because Elia and her children sure as hell did not deserve those incompetent idiots granting their death. Anyway, no one was watching Cersei anymore and he got in the throne room not long later while I was still holding that bloody sword, he convinced me that we should pass it as if _he_ had done it because can you even imagine a _woman_ having killed the Mad King, what would people have said, would they have even believed it, and if he became King then we could be together _for real_ and who was going to stop us or force me to marry another man?” She breathes. “I said yes. Very dumb of me. No one knows, of course, except those same arseholes who stand outside the fucking door whenever my brother comes to take what he thinks he’s owed now that he came to terms with the fact that I don’t go to him willingly anymore. _That_ is what being in the bloody Kingsguard does to you, your oaths, your principles and everything you fucking hold dear. And if you want to stay the – the decent man that you are, you will _not_ do that. For my sake or not. I’m not worth it. _Nothing_ is worth it. And you’re about the one knight I ever run into who _means_ those bloody vows – don’t you _dare_ sully yourself with that white cloak. It would ruin you soon enough.”

 _And I don’t want you to be ruined_ , she doesn’t say.

She also lets his arms go – in a few spots, he’s bleeding for how hard she grabbed him.

She dares look up at him – she hasn’t quite done so since she started talking.

She doesn’t think she’s ever seen anyone look at her with so much admiration in her life.

“I – I won’t ask him,” he finally whispers. “But I’m not leaving court.”

“I haven’t asked that of you, have I?”

“My lady –” He starts.

“Don’t. No one knows about Aerys. No one should ever know. I don’t care anymore. I don’t regret it and I never will. Understood?”

“Understood,” he says, and when he tentatively puts a hand around her shoulders –

Well, she decides, it can’t be too bad if she just lets him do it for a short while before she has to send him away, can it?

\--

Thing is, she knew things couldn’t hang up in that precarious balance for too long. She knew Cersei would wonder _why_ her moon blood is never late, and she knew that gritting her teeth and bearing it just because she knows that after Cersei leaves someone will tentatively knock on her door and _he_ will come in with moon tea and his kind and sympathetic eyes and he will tell her that he can reconsider joining the Kingsguard if she changes her mind is not an arrangement that can last for log.

It couldn’t ever be enough, she knows, but she had hoped it might be, for a bit.

\--

Then Joffrey dies.

\--

Apparently, this time, whoever poisoned him found some kind of venom that does not smell.

It happens at dinner, and Jaime stays still as both Cersei and Lysa run over _their_ precious golden son – not hers, not in anything except blood – and watch him die.

Good bloody riddance, she thinks. Joffrey never was _her_ son, after all. She hadn’t even seen him after he was born, since she had passed out from how painful it was. They brought him up a spoiled little brat who took after his father when it came to being an arse to Tyrion and who never spared her more than a few glances of disdain, because of course Lysa poisoned him against her from the first moment, and honest, he was the reason why every time Cersei brought him with when the commoners have audience, _someone_ would come out of it with a death sentence.

Whoever was behind it, they didn’t want Joffrey on the throne. Which is entirely fine with Jaime. He’d have been a terrible king.

Of course, everyone who even _looked_ at Joffrey’s poisoned food that day loses their head. Jaime, just before the funeral, cuts off what of her hair has grown anew – she knows what might happen tonight and she doesn’t want Cersei to enjoy even a second of it.

Of course, Cersei comes that very evening.

“I don’t think you understand what’s at stake,” he tells her. “I _need_ another son now.”

“I think Tommen’s good enough as he is,” Jaime retorts.

“He’s too soft,” Cersei laughs. “He doesn’t have worries other than _playing with damned cats_. No,” he says, “that cannot stand.”

“And how would you make sure Tommen does not inherit? Send him to the Wall?”

“That’s an idea, but it’s not a matter for _now_.”

“Too bad,” Jaime tells him, “that I do not care what you _need_. You want a son? Try it with Lysa Tully. I’m sure enough time has passed that she might reasonably conceive again.”

She does expect the slap to her face.

She laughs. “Cersei, we both know I cannot stop you. You want another son? Come try. Don’t you ever think I would give you one if I could have a choice in it.”

Maybe she shouldn’t have laughed, she reasons later, but what does she even care?

\--

“Maybe you’re too old,” Cersei tells her as he dresses up again.

“I’m as old as you are, sweet brother.”

“Well, given that we _did_ sire three children, I have a feeling your cunt might not be so fertile anymore. Maybe you’re right,” he says, “maybe I have nothing left to share with a _useless cripple_ , but you’re still my _only_ half, and you’re the only woman who should bear my seed. I should hope this was the right time.”

And then he leaves and closes the door so very calmly on his way out.

The only thing Jaime can think of right now is that if she could just tear her own fucking womb out of her stomach, she would.

She should have told him, _was I so useless when I gave you a throne_ , but is it even worth it?

“My lady?”

Oh.

She hadn’t realized.

She looks up at Ser Byrn as he walks inside the room but her vision is so blurred with tears, she can barely make out the shape of his face.

When did she start crying?

“You heard,” she sobs.

“I heard,” he says, sounding so sympathetic she wants to scream at him.

“I’m so fucking _tired_ ,” she blurts instead, and she barely registers him putting the tea on the nightstand and taking her hands in his own.

“My lady, if – _please_ , tell me what can I do.”

“You can do absolutely nothing,” she sobs.

“There _has_ to be a way out. If you ask your father he _could_ find you a decent match and you could leave –”

“He hasn’t until now, what suggests you he’d do it for a woman of two and _thirty_ , who he _knows_ has borne three children, who is _way_ past the prime of her beauty and who the entire realm thinks scorns any man because she thinks she’s too good for them? He won’t. It wouldn’t be convenient. He’ll _never_ raise a finger to marry me to anyone, and no one would take me anyway. Didn’t you hear him? My _cunt_ is hardly useful these days.”

“I – my lady, I find it honestly upsetting that you seem to think that your _cunt_ is everything there is to you.”

Wait.

 _What_ –

Jaime wipes at her eyes and looks straight at him.

Fuck.

He _meant that_ , too.

“I think,” she replies, slowly, “that it’s the one part of me anyone thinks is worth any.”

“I wouldn’t know about _that_ ,” he goes on, and wait. _Wait_. He’s blushing, of course he is, he’s _always_ somehow blushing when he talks to her, but he’s holding her stare and it’s obvious that he doesn’t mean that _Tyrion_ thinks she’s worth more than her cunt.

“Why, what is that you know then?”

He breathes in and out, in and out, and then he kneels down in front of her, his hand going towards her face, cupping it so gently she almost starts crying again.

“I know that you’re the most remarkable woman I’ve ever met,” he says. “I know that there’s a strength to you most men should be envious of, I know you _saved the realm_ and didn’t even receive any thanks for it, I know that you’re far from a… bad conversationalist, I don’t really care that you don’t watch your tongue before speaking your mind and I know that anyone who thinks your worth ends with your ability to give them children doesn’t deserve a moment of your time. And – again, I know you think there’s nothing that can be done to change the situation but if there was I’d do everything I could to help you, even if – if I don’t really think you’d need help, if the problem was anyone but your brother.”

“How – how so?”

Ser Byrn doesn’t smile too often, but he does now, a small, tentative grin that shows his crooked teeth and _does_ reach his eyes.

“My lady, if I thought you were the kind of helpless maiden knights rescue in songs all the time, I really would be a complete fool.”

For a moment, she wonders, _is he fucking serious_.

But – good gods, he _is._ His lovely blue eyes are staring straight into hers, and there isn’t _one_ thing about the way he’s looking at her that suggests he’s japing. Hells, he’s still blushing. And he’s still touching her face as if he thinks she’s some kind of precious glass, which is all goddamn _wrong_ but at the same time feels so nice she could weep with it –

 _Maybe_ , a small traitorous voice tells her, _maybe those knights you used to sing about do exist after all_.

And at the same time – she shouldn’t. He’s _young_ , much too young, and she doesn’t really want him to risk his head for her, not when he’s such a rare breed, not when the realm needs real knights more than _she_ does, not when she can’t even imagine a turn of events when she’s free to do whatever the hell she wants.

 _But_ –

Jaime never was _that_ selfless.

She doesn’t know who’s the most surprised out of the two of them when she slams her mouth against his.

For a moment she thinks, _and what if I was wrong_?

It doesn’t last longer than that, though, because then his other hand is at the back of her head and he’s kissing her back, and he’s doing it with zero finesse and a lot of enthusiasm, even if it’s obvious he never did this with anyone else before, and _shit, is she his first kiss, what a jape_ , she thinks, and then she moves away and he’s looking at her _awed_ , as if he hadn’t expected that at all, and as if he hadn’t even _hoped_ she would.

For a moment, she’s tempted to tell him to just take her here and now so she can forget what happened half an hour ago, but – but she’s not _so_ cruel, and she won’t ask him to bed her where Cersei has been not even an hour ago, not when he’s never even touched a woman before.

And then he gives her such a sweet smile that she thinks her knees will give out.

“I – I didn’t dare hope for that much,” he says.

“ _Hope_?”

“My lady, I think you might have missed that I have been wanting to kiss you for a very long time.”

She – it’s too much. _For a very long time_. She almost wants to ask when.

“Then you’re welcome to do it again, ser,” she says, and she entirely means it.

His face quite literally lights up before he does it again, except that it’s slow and _considerate_ and he’s holding her face in both hands as he kisses her, and Jaime _knows_ , not even _that_ deep in her heart, that she’s fucked.

Thrice over.

But somehow, it doesn’t matter.

\--

She only has her moon tea after he has left, long later, and for the first time in weeks, she’s smiling as she drinks it.

\--

She doesn’t dare speak to him for the next couple of days, just in case anyone might be watching.

If she’s right, Cersei should leave for a few days to go visit the Baratheons – not a trip he relishes, but one he has to do once per year for obvious diplomatic reasons.

Good. She waits for them to leave, refuses to come with – and Cersei doesn’t press her, of course he doesn’t _now_ – and then she thinks, _do I really want to do it_? She knows he wouldn’t insist to bed her. She knows it’s not _required_ of her.

But gods, she’s spent the last eight years feeling like her goddamned entire _self_ , not just her cunt, was at Cersei’s disposal. And she knows she’s not as young and beautiful as she used to be before she bore three children – she didn’t have stretch marks back then, and her arms didn’t bear faint scars of all the times some plate or glass broke on her skin, and of course her hair was long and luscious and beautiful back then.

And it’s not as if the person she wants to invite in her bed is a sight for sore eyes, either, or at least isn’t for other people.

The gods know Jaime would gladly give an arm to only ever have to see _his_ face in her life, out of any man’s that’s not Tyrion.

That evening, she tells Tyrion to send their precious knight upstairs after dinner.

Then, she takes her time in front of the mirror. She hasn’t had a maid for herself in years, not that it matters now, especially because no one needs to braid her hair.

She wears a dress she hasn’t put on in months because Cersei made her understand it’d be _better_ if she wore red and gold. This one is light green, made of Dornish silk, and doesn’t need a corset or bodice to be worn. She doesn’t wear smallclothes under it, but she wears some of her mother’s emeralds – earrings and necklace – and when she looks at herself in the mirror… well, she’s the ghost of the woman she was at eight and ten, but even with short hair and no other way to make herself look any prettier, she thinks she cuts a passable figure.

She doesn’t have to wait for long until there’s a lone knock on the door.

“Come in,” she says, suddenly feeling unsure for some kind of irrational reason. But – will he think she’s trying too hard? Will he think it’s pathetic that she wants to look her best if she has to take to her bed someone she actually _wants_ in it, and who’s not her damned brother for the first time?

Those doubts last for the time it takes Byrn to lock the door and turn to look at her, because the moment he sees her, he seems to have laid his eyes upon some kind of goddess for how he just _stops_ dead in his tracks to just look at her.

“Ser,” she says, “I find you quite speechless.”

“I – my lady, I don’t think that if anyone was to write of your beauty they could make justice of it, even if they were the best singer in the Seven Kingdoms.”

On _anyone_ else’s mouth, that sentence would have sounded the corniest shit in existence.

On _his_ , it sounds true, and _something_ in her breaks, but in the good sense. It’s not that she cares for how much he thinks she’s beautiful or not – she knows it’s not the reason why he’s here, or most of it anyway –, it’s that he’s looking at her like he _wants_ her so much he could burst with it, and like he’s not presuming he can take what he wants without permission, and –

She can’t remember the last time Cersei looked at her like this.

If only, because he _never_ actually presumed he _couldn’t_ take what he wanted, Jaime realizes, and it almost makes her dizzy, but –

Fuck it all. She’s not going to think about Cersei now.

“Why,” she says, sitting on the bed and raising her skirts enough to show her bare ankles, “I didn’t ask you to come here to _sing_ , but if that’s what you like to do, you might try it later.”

“I – I really am a poor singer. I am better at facts than words,” he says, moving closer, and thank the gods he isn’t wearing armor but just plain breeches and shirt that a commoner might also wear, because she won’t have to wait for him to get out of them for long.

“Somehow, this only sounds like good news to me.” How long had it been since she could afford to joke around with another man, like this? She can’t remember. “And – you’re welcome to show me.”

                                                    

He sits down next to her on the bed. He’s taller, though not _impossibly_ so – she’s tall, for a woman. He moves a hand under her chin, tilting it upwards.

“I just hope you know I have no experience with –”

“It’s easily learned,” she cuts him off. “And I – I’ve only ever been with _him_. Do not think I’m that much better off than you, ser. So, are you done being gallant or not?”

“I don’t see why I should stop,” he says, bending down to kiss her again, and this time it’s not slow or _knightly_ or anything of the kind – he kisses her like he _means_ it, and she’s lying down on the bed before they have to part, and he’s raised her skirt high enough to see that she is, in fact, wearing no smallclothes.

She expects him to get out of his breeches and go for it.

Instead, he moves back, licks his lips once, twice, puts his hands on her knees gently but firmly, and bends _down_.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

She doesn’t whine the moment his mouth touches her cunt just out of sheer self-control, but if anyone hears them they’re fucked, she _knows_ , and so she bites down on her tongue and puts her hands on his head, grasping at his hair – it’s not much to look at but it’s soft to the touch, and he takes it as the encouragement it was meant to be because before he was being tentative, but now his tongue gets bolder and goes down further, and when he actually _kisses_ her in between her legs just where her clit is she has to bite down on the damned pillow.

Then he does it _again_ , and then he uses his tongue _again_ , licking at it, once, twice, thrice, over soft flesh that no one paid proper attention to in a hell of a long time, and she knows her grip on his hair must be painful by now but he doesn’t seem to be fazed, and she can see the muscles in his back flex under his shirt as he tastes how _wet_ she is exactly, and –

And she doesn’t know how long he stays at it, nor she can remember the last time she actually peaked _before_ Cersei did, _if_ she did, but now she _does_ , and she peaks so hard she can’t see anything for a very long moment, and when he finally emerges from in between her legs with flushed cheeks, wide blue eyes and ruffled hair, _have I done right_ written on his face, she’s completely breathless.

“Ser,” she says, “if that’s how you _perform_ with no experience, I shall be delighted to find out how you fare with _some_ practice.”

He goes even _redder_ , bless him. “I, uh, I imagined it’d be – actually, no, I knew. I – gods, this is embarrassing.”

“What?”

“I, uh, might’ve asked one of the girls at the brothel when I went for moon tea last,” he admits. “I mean, about how to pleasure a woman best. They assured me _that_ was a sure bet. They also asked if I wanted to, uh, try it out before _for free_ , but I said no.”

“That’s – fuck, that’s flattering,” she says, because _what else_ can she even say to it? _And it wasn’t a bad idea, honestly, after all a whore would know best_. “And I think it’s _my_ turn now,” she says, sitting up and putting her hands on his shirt.

He’s _large_ under it, not that she hadn’t known, but shirtless he’s just – huge. Huge shoulders, huge chest, of course there are a few scars but given his line of work it’s to be expected, and it’s all the firm muscle born out of constant exercise. His chest is also covered in fine blond hair in the middle, up until it reaches his crotch, and she can see that he’s hard, never mind that his breeches are damp in the front.

Fuck.

And that was _while he was kissing her cunt._

Well – Jaime can’t really doubt any further that he _does_ find her wholly desirable, after all.

Suddenly, every ridiculous doubt she had while she was dressing disappears into thin air, and she can’t remember the last time she actually _enjoyed_ this.

Fuck _that_.

She brings him down for another kiss, and now _she_ ’s the one kissing in a way that’s wholly unladylike as she works his breeches open and pushes them downwards.

“My lady –”

“I think,” she breathes, and turns the tables over so that _she_ is on top of him, “that we can stop being this formal, _Byrn_. And – I know you probably had other plans, but _we have time_.”

Patience if she sounds desperate.

“All right,” he says, his hands going to her waist, “and what do _you_ want?”

“Just _fuck me already_ ,” she says, sinking down on his dick and not caring a whim that it _does_ moderately hurt, she knew it would, and he groans in surprise but then nods and switches their positions again, slower, _gentler_ , and then –

Then he _does_ fuck her. But not _fast_. He takes his time, as much as he can, but he thrusts in deep and he groans in pleasure when she lifts her legs to his back, and when he attempts to pull out _before_ coming – and for it being the first time, she thinks, he did hold on for quite long – she tightens her hold.

She has a _lot_ of moon tea left.

He _doesn’t_ close those lovely eyes of his when he _does_ come inside her, his hips canting downward for the last time, and the way he says her name as he does is almost worshipful, and damn it but she could get used to this – to _him_ – and she doesn’t peak again as he does, but it’s all right. She did before. This wasn’t about _that_.

She’s not surprised when he _doesn’t_ let himself fall on top of her as he pulls out, regaining his breath.

“I hope – I hope it was to my lady’s satisfaction,” he grins.

“For now,” she tentatively smiles back, “but the night is young and I think I am not done yet.”

“Does that mean I may show you what else did the girls in the brothel recommend me to try?”

In _no bloody occasion_ should such a sentence arouse her, but she can feel blood rushing downwards at the prospect.

“Please do,” Jaime tells him, spreading her legs. After all, she doesn’t need to wait to be ready again, and she’s pretty sure he’ll get there soon enough.

He smiles again and moves in the middle, his hand reaching for her clit, his thumb rubbing slightly over it while his fingers slip _inside_ , where they find absolutely no resistance given how fucking wet she is and that he _came inside her before_.

Not long later, as his rough, long fingers bring her over the edge, her last rational thought is that she _is_ going to find out which brothel he and Tyrion get the moon tea from and she’ll send the owner a _hell_ of a lot of money.

Never say that Lannisters don’t pay their debts, after all.

Then she doesn’t think any rational thoughts anymore.

\--

By the time she decides she doesn’t have any strength left in her anymore, she’s peaked _five_ times and he’s come inside her thrice and once in her mouth, and he sounds even more breathless than she does.

“Well,” she says, “pay your girl some extra.”

He laughs, sounding somewhat embarrassed. “She will be glad to hear it. Gods, will anyone wonder about the sheets?”

Right. They’re soiled.

“I have enough money to buy the maids’ silence, if it comes to that,” she replies. “I’ll think of something. Honestly? I can’t give a fuck.”

“So, was it to your satisfaction?” He looks _smug_ now, and she doesn’t begrudge him that.

“I should be very displeased if it doesn’t happen again,” she replies.

“Good, because disappointing you is _not_ what I want to do,” he says, and gods, such lines should sound _so very corny_ , but the way he says them –

She shuts him up by kissing him again.

And then she decides that fuck everything, Cersei’s not here and she’s going to see this through.

“You shouldn’t be here when morning comes,” she sighs, and then grips _a lot_ tighter at his hip. “But I would be very disappointed if you leave before I fall asleep.”

“Very well,” he says, and as she moves her head on his shoulder and his arm falls around her waist she thinks, _if only now I wouldn’t have to hide this for who knows how long_.

\--

He’s not there when she wakes up, but he was definitely there when she fell asleep.

She ponders how to dispose of the soiled sheets, then she settles on calling for a maid who in turn should call Tyrion.

The moment her brother walks inside the room it’s _obvious_ he understands at once what happened.

“Let me guess,” he says, “you and our valiant knight had _fun_ tonight and now you need to dispose of the evidence?” He’s grinning as he says it, though.

Jaime has a feeling he was hoping it’d end like this. She doesn’t ask.

“I _know_ you snuck in some prostitutes once in a while.”

“Cersei would _not_ think of checking my laundry, though. Wait a moment – oh, _fine_. Hand me the entire thing.”

“ _What_?”

“I have a sellsword in my employment _and_ , if you forgot, Sandor Clegane has been demoted to watch my back since he couldn’t watch Joffrey’s well enough, according to Cersei, but he can’t certainly send away the brother of the man who made sure Rhaegar left no heirs. I’m fairly sure that in between the two of them _one_ might be willing to say they’re _his_ sheets – Clegane is probably a better bet, given how much he hates Cersei.”

“Tyrion, if either of them _knows_ –”

“Clegane figured it out a while ago.”

“ _Sorry_?”

“He asked if the two of you were fucking already when he got demoted. I said you weren’t. He said he wasn’t going to be the one selling you out when you started.”

Well, _damn_. Jaime doesn’t think she ever talked to the man, but maybe she should start at this point.

“Fine. Just – thank you.”

“For what? Just pay attention, sister. And brew that moon tea.”

Jaime does, even if for the first time in a while, it doesn’t feel like vengeance.

She thinks, _a son or daughter with_ his _eyes wouldn’t be such a bad thing_ , except _that_ would definitely be enough of a cause for their heads to roll.

Of course, a son or daughter with _her_ eyes wouldn’t make Cersei any wiser, but she can’t risk such a gamble.

She drinks her tea.

\--

Before Cersei comes back, she finds the time to go to _his_ chambers, which are a lot more modest and smaller, and the bed is less comfortable, but at least she doesn’t have to worry about the state of _her_ sheets.

She rides him twice, and he takes her against the mattress _and_ the wall, and she comes back to her rooms without smallclothes, feeling a certain satisfaction as she does.

She drinks the moon tea again.

\--

Cersei is, of course, not happy that her next moon blood shows up as punctual as ever.

Jaime doesn’t even try to tell him no, but the first time in years she has something _else_ to think about, and Cersei is never going to know that she was thinking, _in a few days someone else will be in your place and I shall enjoy that fully_ with every thrust.

Fuck him, she thinks as she brews her tea. _Fuck him_.

She’ll die before bearing him another child.

\--

The next morning, she cuts her hair even shorter – it looks _horrible_.

People _talk_ , of course.

It’s no matter, because when she’s sure that Cersei will _not_ come, she sneaks out of her room and into Byrn’s, who doesn’t show any sign of displeasure at the state of her hair.

They don’t even make it to the bed, for that matter, until it’s all done and over, which is all good – no soiled sheets to explain then.

She has to slip out of his grasp before dawn, even if she thinks, _how nice would it be to be able to wake up in that bed_.

When she drinks her moon tea that morning, it’s cold.

\--

“We need to go to Winterfell,” Cersei says irritably at lunch. Lysa is not present – she has to be present for Myrcella’s fits of some new dresses.

“Why’s that?” Tyrion asks. Jaime is playing the demure and defeated part and says nothing. Let Cersei think he won, at least partially.

“Lady Stark insists to see her sister and her nephews, and the queen thinks Ned Stark could be a good master of Laws, now that Jon Arryn said he wished to go back to the Vale.”

Not of his own volition, Jaime knows, because Arryn doesn’t approve of Cersei’s brand of _laws_ , but far from her to point it out.

“Well, he’s capable,” their father says, “and it would do _everyone_ good to keep good relations with him and Baratheon.”

So, their father has spoken.

Jaime hopes that Ned Stark has planned entertainment that might bring Cersei away from anywhere she is. Oh, Jaime _will_ have to go, but it will be fairly easy to bring Byrn with, after all he’s a fixture at court by now and Cersei seems convinced that having him around is better than _not_ , and if he does come –

She shall enjoy her trip North a lot, especially since Cersei will _not_ risk trying to fuck her when _Lysa’s sister could hear_.

\--

To their credit, _all_ of Ned Stark’s children are overtly polite when they’re introduced. Bastard son included – heck, Jon Snow, Robb Stark _and_ Theon Greyjoy _do_ kiss her hand, which she finds fairly adorable, given their red faces as they do. Well, Greyjoy’s face was _not_ red. Jaime’s pretty sure he was staring at her cleavage.

She would laugh about it, and then remembers that she’s bedding someone _exactly_ Greyjoy’s age, so she really has no business judging him, but honestly, she’s delighted of it. And she’s also delighted that Cersei noticed and could do absolutely _nothing_ to stop it – after all, the lad is _Stark_ ’s hostage, not theirs.

At least Myrcella and Tommen seem to take to their peers – Myrcella spends dinner chatting to Sansa and Tommen to Bran, and Jaime feels a pang of pain thinking that _she_ won’t be the one they tell everything about it.

Lysa does _not_ seem too happy, though. Actually, Lysa looks _livid_ whenever any of her nephews crosses her way, even if she fakes with her sister well enough.

 _Maybe it’s because she has five of them and they’re all hers_ _and she didn’t need to pretend anything_ , Jaime thinks bitterly, and doesn’t even feel bad for it.

Honestly, years ago she might have.

Now she doesn’t.

That night, she goes to bed rejoicing at the prospect that tomorrow Cersei and Ned Stark and all the men are out on a hunt for the entire day –

All except Byrn, who has volunteered to stay back and teach the _boys_ some swordfighting that’s not their usual style.

\--

The tower should have been safe.

It was abandoned, or so Stark said when she asked offhandedly. The top was indeed full of dust. And it was far enough from the rest of the castle that it should have been safe.

The last thing she thought was that _Ned Stark’s son would be trying to climb it_.

And see them.

And waver dangerously from his position.

Byrn ties a sheet hastily around his waist and hauls the kid inside.

For a moment neither of them says a word. Then –

“Bran, right?” Byrn says, dropping to a crouch so that they’re eye to eye.

“Yes, ser.” The child’s voice is so tiny you can barely hear it.

“I – I heard you yesterday at dinner. You said that if your brother is to be the Lord of Winterfell, you’d like to be – what I am, didn’t you?”

Bran Stark nods again, a bit more forcefully. Jaime feels like she could throw up as she also ties a sheet around her breasts.

“Then – I know what this looks like,” Byrn goes on, “but it’s not _that_.”

“It – it looks like Florian and Jonquil, actually?”

Rather than throwing up, now Jaime wants to ask, _really_?

“It’s – a bit like that, actually,” Byrn goes on. “It’s just, Florian and Jonquil _did_ figure out how to be together without hiding it sooner than us. But – no one can know.” He sounds _utterly_ serious now. “ _No one_. Can you keep a secret?”

Bran nods, _very_ forcefully now. “Of course. I – I won’t tell. I swear.”

“Good,” Byrn says, “because if word gets out, we both die.”

Bran _blanches_. “I – I wouldn’t – of course. I won’t tell.”

“Not even your parents?” Jaime asks, trying to sound as conciliatory as possible. “Because you _can’t_. Anyone knows, he loses his head before I do.”

She figures Bran Stark wouldn’t enjoy the prospect of the man who taught him a trick that could disarm his brother effectively _dying_ for loving someone else.

“I swear,” Bran says, so solemnly he sounds like his father.

“Then I guess you can leave,” Byrn tells him, the small smile not faltering from his mouth, bless his trust in people.

“And don’t climb towers on your own, it’s fucking dangerous,” Jaime says.

“Mother always tells me not to,” Bran says sheepishly, and then disappears down the stairs.

Well, Jaime decides, now _that_ took any arousal out of her. She drops sitting on the bed with a sigh, but doesn’t protest when Byrn pulls her to his chest.

“Can we hope he really keeps his mouth shut?” She sighs.

“He sounded like he meant it. If not, I’ll say he caught me with a whore from the village and he took her for you.”

“Byrn –”

“No one is going to raise an eyebrow at _that_. After all, we’re somehow all expected to, aren’t we?”

Maybe. She hopes he’s right.

She _really_ hopes he’s right.

\--

Bran Stark says nothing and keeps his word.

Ned Stark accepts to come to King’s Landing as Master of Laws. He’s going to bring his eldest daughter with – she’s enamored at the idea of living in court.

Jaime wants to tell her all the reasons why she shouldn’t be, and then doesn’t even try because what would be the point?

Cersei is _not_ pleased when her moon blood comes back in the middle of the journey back to King’s Landing.

\--

Then Cersei holds the godsforsaken tourney.

He says he’s doing it because the smallfolk always enjoy it, and because Stark’s daughter seemed delighted at the prospect, but Jaime knows that it’s mostly because of the smallfolk. No one has enjoyed how much power the City Watch has had since Joffrey died.

Of course, every knight in court signs up for it.

Jaime honestly hopes that someone like Loras Tyrell wins it – _anyone_ would know that if he gave a crown of roses to any lady in attendance it’d be a farce because everyone at court knows that he only has eyes for Renly Baratheon, and Baratheon for him.

The day of the tourney, she wakes up to a terrified maid telling her that His Grace said Jaime should wear _this_ dress, and she’s holding up a gorgeous silk red and gold gown that’s obviously newly made, and has bloody real rubies sewn in the hems.

Jaime is tempted to tell the maid that Cersei can fucking keep it – does he think it’s some kind of peace offering? – but she knows better than refusing, and hates herself for it.

She lets the maid put her in a corset first and in the goddamn thing later.

She wonders if Cersei studied the effect, because it’s obvious that for how much the maid ties it and tries to make it fit, this dress’s measures are the ones she had _when she was eighteen_ , and then she rues herself for _wondering_ – of course Cersei did it on purpose.

When she was eighteen, she would have filled it without a problem. Now she’s thinner, and her breasts did lose a size after three pregnancies during which she didn’t feed the children, anyway, and she’s lost some muscle. Paired with her short, not evenly cut hair, it makes a grotesque figure because the dress is gorgeous but doesn’t fit her at all, and it’s _obvious_ , and it was made for a young girl with all her life in front of her, not –

Not for _her_.

Cersei _really_ wants to turn her into the laughing stock of this goddamn mummer’s farce, doesn’t he?

“Leave it,” she tells the terrified maid. “You did as well as you could. It’ll have to do.”

Of course, people laugh behind her back as she takes her seat, and why wouldn’t they? She looks terrible, and this dress is a mockery, and she can see it in Cersei’s cruel smile as they sit down together. Lysa is _also_ sending her a mocking smile, and the gold and red dress _she_ ’s wearing certainly fits her like a glove.

 _What if everyone who laughed knew neither of them would be here without me_ , Jaime thinks bitterly.

Stark’s daughter, bless her, is looking at everything wide-eyed, along with her friend who came with from Winterfell, and doesn’t understand what’s going on at all.

Stark, though –

Stark’s eyes are narrow as he eyes the scene, and then he looks back to his daughter and tells her that who knows, maybe whoever wins will make _her_ queen of love and beauty.

Jaime sincerely hopes it’s the case – it would make _everyone_ happy, Sansa Stark included.

Then the games start.

She really hopes Tyrell wins.

\--

Of course, he doesn’t.

\--

No one is surprised when Byrn of Tarth does – after all, he _is_ the finest knight in court. She hadn’t realized he would also be when it came to jousting, but then again, he never does things halfway.

“You may choose today’s Queen of love and beauty,” the herald tells him, handing Byrn a crown made of freshly picked pink roses.

Admittedly, the choice is what it is, Jaime has to notice – the only unmarried women who are eligible for such a title are her, Sansa Stark, her friend and Myrcella. Every other woman is safely married and it really would _not_ be a good idea to crown any of them, nor the Queen, not in this case. Cersei _would_ take it as a slight.

 _Give it to Sansa Stark,_ Jaime prays, staring at Byrn as he turns his horse over to their side of the seats. _Please give it to Sansa Stark and make her happy and let this mummer’s farce be over, and don’t give it to Myrcella or Cersei will start noticing you and he shouldn’t, please_ –

Then she realizes that the entire arena has gone silent and that Byrn has stopped the horse _right in front of her_.

Oh.

Oh, _no_ , she thinks, but she meets his eyes and –

“My lady,” he says, miraculously managing to sound detached, “may I have the honor?”

It’s too late to do anything but nod and lean down her head, letting him place the damned flowers on it, and –

“It suits you,” he whispers before moving back and heading to get his prize.

Jaime looks at Stark’s side first. Sansa and her friend look like they’re about to weep in _happiness_ – what the hell? They seem fairly happy _she_ was the chosen one.

Then she glances at her right side.

Lysa looks livid.

Cersei, though –

The only reason Jaime doesn’t faint right there and then is because she can see Tyrion behind them looking like he can’t believe they just did _that_ , but also like he usually does when he’s cooking up some plan.

\--

“Honestly,” Byrn says, and Jaime has to change her mind – he _can_ lie, when he wants to, “I merely picked your sister because she was the most convenient option, Your Grace.”

“ _Most convenient_?” Cersei hisses.

“Well, Lord Stark’s daughter is very young and I hadn’t known how her father would have taken it. And her friend is the same age, but given that she’s of a lower status – albeit not _too_ low, I wager – I hadn’t wanted her to assume I had, shall we say, second thoughts about that decision. I am not in mind of marrying or looking for a wife anytime soon,” Byrn lies. “Then – well, the only unmarried women left were your sister and your daughter, but your daughter _really_ felt like an inappropriate choice. You will see that there was no other option left.”

“Fair enough,” Cersei has to admit, grudgingly. But of course, he can’t also say _I forced her to dress like that just to make sure no one would even think of it and instead you went and ruined my entire scheme_. “Still, one might think you have _second thoughts_ about my sister, then.”

“Your Grace,” Byrn keeps on lying, “I already said – I am not looking for a wife, never mind that I have a feeling a king’s sister is _way_ above my reach. I meant nothing by it except no disrespect.”

“Cersei, _come on_ ,” Tyrion interrupts, “really, if he had crowned anyone else it’d have gone awry either way. And if he had wanted to _marry_ her you’d have known.”

“Fair,” Cersei admits again. “ _Fair_. I shall see you at your _victory dinner_ , then, _Ser_.”

He leaves, not quite slamming the door but _close_.

Tyrion waits a long, long beat. And then –

“Ser, believe me, _I_ won’t be the person discouraging you from whatever it is that you two are doing, but don’t you both think you could _try to keep it down_?” He hisses. “If he finds out you’re both done for, and _this_ will make sure he keeps an eye on you.”

At least Byrn has the grace to look sheepish. “I – I know,” he says, “but I am not in the habit of lying about most things. And I can defend myself if it needs be.”

“You’re really too much of an optimist if you think your admirable fighting skills would be enough to save _the both of you_ from my brother, but anyhow, what’s done is done. _Please_ don’t make eyes at each other tonight or he really is going to put someone on watch on both of your doors. And now I shall go pay a few people to talk some and spread a story about you having a sweetheart in our favorite whorehouse,” Tyrion says, heading for the door.

“Wait, _what_?” Byrn asks.

“Ser,” Tyrion huffs, “if people think you’re sweet on _any_ of those whores no one will assume you are, in fact, _aiming a lot higher_. See you at _dinner_.” Then he leaves and it’s just the two of them inside the room.

Jaime’s still wearing the damned crown.

She should just leave and not make anyone even more suspicious, but –

“You _really_ are a bloody fool,” she whispers as she moves closer to him and grabs his hands. They’re dirty with the earth from the arena.

“I might be,” he agrees, “but – I noticed. I mean. I doubt you picked that dress yourself, didn’t you?”

“Of course not.”

“I – I actually was planning on losing to Tyrell on purpose,” Byrn says, “but then I _saw_ and – he has no right to try and turn you into some kind of laughing stock. I figured I should rectify it. Never mind that – I said it before. I don’t lie, except to your brother, I suppose, and there was no lady in attendance who was more deserving.”

“Flatterer,” she smiles, unable to even pretend to be angry at him. “Imagine if I really had looked the way I did when this fucking dress would have fit me.”

“I don’t need to. You’re deserving of those damned flowers _right now_.”

She wants to tear the damn gown apart and kiss him _here and now_ , but – it would be a colossally bad idea.

During dinner, they’re seated next to each other for obvious reasons. Jaime tries to be as detached and merely polite as possible, but at some point when Cersei isn’t looking, she catches Lysa’s eye and sees that she’s seething.

Jaime winks at her and goes back to her food. It might be a small revenge, but it tastes sweeter than the lemoncake she’s nibbling at.

\--

Of course, her revenge doesn’t last for long.

She walks up to her room set on getting rid of the fucking dress.

And that’s where she finds that not only Cersei’s there already, and the same two Kingsguard arses are there, too.

He also has in hand the last of the moon tea she kept in her cabinet.

“This is disappointing,” he says. “Maybe it’s not your _cunt_ that’s useless.”

Fuck. _Fuck_. “I _did_ tell you that I wouldn’t give you any bloody other child if I could help it,” she replies, holding her head high. She knows she’s playing a losing game, but no point in pretending she’s sorry about it. “And given _how much_ of that tea I’ve drunk, maybe my cunt _really_ might be useless at this point.”

“I should like to know _who_ provided you with it.”

She smiles ever so slightly, but keeps her mouth shut.

“I said, I _should_ _like_ to know who provided you with it.”

“Do you think you would ever find out from me?” She laughs, and spits blood on the ground when his hand hits her face.

“I shouldn’t even ask,” he says, and she can hear that he’s _angry_. “I know it’s Tyrion. I should have disposed of that little monster years ago.”

 _Fuck_. Of course, he figured that out. “Why, does he remind you that as much as you despise _him_ , he’s still a better man than you could ever hope to be?”

This time, she’s ready. She has Cersei’s hand in her grip before he can hit her again, and she digs her nails into his wrist when he slams her against the wall.

“I don’t think you understand the position you’re in,” Cersei hisses, his mouth inches from hers.

She can’t remember how she ever found that mouth a mouth she wanted to kiss.

_My lady, if I thought you were the kind of helpless maiden knights rescue in songs all the time, I really would be a complete fool._

Maybe it’s time she lives up to it.

“I don’t think _you_ understand yours,” Jaime spits back. “Oh, you can take me here and now, you can stay around enough to be sure that even if I took moon tea it would not have any effect, you could do it as long as it might take. The first thing I’d do if you actually _could_ put another child in me would be finding someone to take it out, and if I couldn’t find them I’d fucking do it myself, and if I could not I’d throw myself from the nearest window. Don’t you forget that if you’re where you are, it’s because of _me_ , and your fucking Queen should remember that, too. _Neither_ of you would have a thing, if it wasn’t for me.”

“You better watch your mouth if you want _our brother_ ’s head on his shoulders, _my lady_.”

“Oh, now you’re resorting to the one thing you know would make me do whatever you want,” she laughs, and good thing it’s the one thing _he knows_. “Fine. Do go ahead. _Take me_. Just remember what I said.”

Maybe she shouldn’t have gone as far as that.

Maybe.

But the sweet taste of Cersei’s rage is certainly worth the blood she spits on the ground when he’s left.

\--

“I’m going to kill him.”

Jaime is _not_ surprised that it’s the first thing Byrn says as he sneaks inside long later.

“No, you aren’t,” Jaime tells him, “because if you do whoever comes next will have to take your head and I quite like it where it is.”

“For – gods, _what_ has he done?”

“Nothing worse than usual, he just found out that I have been drinking moon tea. Which is why I am afraid that while it’s not something I would ask of you, I think I have need of your service. In other ways.”

“Other – other ways?” For a moment, they look at each other, and then his face turns horrified. “Jaime, there’s _blood_ on that bed. I cannot – not when you’re –”

“Believe me,” she says, “It’s not what I would like to partake in right now. Right now, I just would like to drink an entire flagon of Dornish and forget this night entirely. But he found out about the moon tea. I cannot risk having any around now, or he’s _really_ going to murder Tyrion for it. And – believe me when I say that I would die before bearing _his_ child. _Yours_ , though, would be an entire different matter.”

 _Then_ he understands. “But – if – if it was _obvious_ –”

“I shall cross that bridge when I get to it. Ser, it seems like I do have a limited choice still when it comes to what I should do with my own damned cunt, but I’d rather hope to have _your_ children over his own. And if we – if we do it _now_ , maybe – _please_ , just do it already or I won’t be able to bear it.”

“Very well,” he says, “but we’re doing it _my_ way.” He tells her to call a maid and to have water brought up. Cold is fine. Jaime does it, not opening the door all the way through, and the girl leaves the water outside the door. He retrieves it, then strips the bed off the bloody sheet and tells her to lie down.

She almost cries when he grabs a piece of cloth from somewhere and washes her legs and cunt off _very_ carefully. The cloth comes away slightly bloody when he’s done, but at least she can’t smell Cersei on herself anymore, which is only a good thing, and then he puts his hands under her legs and lifts her up and pushes her gently against the wall, and for some miracle if she closes her eyes and only thinks of how wholly _different_ it is, she doesn’t want to burst out crying every other moment.

She thinks, _I should like a child with his eyes so very much_ , not hers, never hers because they’re Cersei’s, too.

When he takes her slowly, carefully, holding her up the entire time, the thought is making her blood run so hot that he doesn’t have to use spit to ease his way in as she had thought he might.

\--

“I meant it,” he says as they dress again, after having washed all proof from their bodies.

“That you’d kill him?” She laughs. “Don’t risk it.”

“I mean that if it came to _that_ , I would. And it seems to me like he wouldn’t care to hurt you _badly_ if it meant you still could bear him a damned heir.”

“Then we shall hope your seed is stronger than his own. Or that I really became barren after all that moon tea,” she shrugs.

He laughs in spite of himself, and sits down next to her again. “Fine, but I cannot let it happen again.”

“You _have_ to –”

“There’s a limit to how much I can stand here and watch, Jaime. I didn’t swear that damned vow just so I could protect people I don’t know on principle and at the same time fail the ones I love.”

Good gods.

He stares straight at her as he says it, sounding so wholly _sure_ as always, and has he just told her –

“Byrn,” she whispers, not trusting her own voice to not weaver, “you might have understood that there are quite a lot of things I will do for _love_. Not getting the ones I care for killed is one of them. Don’t turn into a kingslayer for nothing. One of us in that business is enough. Don’t risk your life. Cersei thinks Tyrion is the only one helping me out and I should like to keep it that way. I quite like you breathing and living, not _dead_.”

Her voice _does_ waver.

Byrn’s hands on her waist do _not_ , nor his resolve when he leans down and kisses her.

He says he won’t, but it’s obvious that he won’t stay idle for long, and Jaime wishes there was a fucking damned way out of this.

\--

Then Ned Stark asks for a private audience with her.

\--

She writes him to meet her in the gardens. She also writes him that it cannot be entirely private.

“I wonder what _Lord Stark_ wants,” she sighs as she waits. She wore the green dress. Her face is a mess, her hair is, too, and no amount of concealing could hide what happened to her two days ago.

“He’s an honorable man,” Byrn replies. “I am sure nothing bad. And if it’s the case –”

“I doubt you would kill _Ned Stark_ for my sake.”

“Of course _not_ , but honorable men can be persuaded to see reason.”

“Well, good thing one person in between the two of us can speak that language,” Jaime sighs, and then –

“Lady Jaime,” Ned Stark says, joining them. “Well, I had figured your brother would be the other person attending.”

“He’s not,” she replies. “Do you have a problem with it?”

“No,” Stark says, “but I think I have a problem with – you haven’t fallen down the stairs, have you?”

“Nice to see you so observant, Lord Stark. No. I have not. But I do not think this is what you wanted to ask me.”

“It’s not.” He stares at her. Then his eyes fill with – is that… pity?

“The children are yours, aren’t they?”

No point in denying it. “How did you figure it out?”

“Someone might have planted a seed in my ear,” he says. “And I realized – out of mine own children… two look like me. The other four take after their lady mother. Usually, one would think auburn hair and blue eyes are not the seed that wins out over black and gray, but it looks like it _does_ , with the Tullys. They _all_ are auburn-haired and blue-eyed.”

“All but the heirs to the throne,” Jaime concludes for him.

“I didn’t want to believe it,” he admits, “but – may I hear your side of the story?”

He sounds sincere enough. And Stark can’t see it, but Byrn’s hand is on the small of her back and it’s pressing strongly, and – fuck it. Whatever he’s planning, at least it’d end this torment.

“They’re all mine. I’ve shared my brother’s bed since I could remember. Back _then_ , I – I thought I loved him. I don’t know anymore if I _did_ or if it was his talk. I don’t know if I ever will. But it _did_ make sense when he said we were two halves of a whole and that we should die together the way we were born together. He took my maidenhead, of course, and – after he became king, he – he assured me that his marriage was of convenience.”

“ _Convenience_?”

“I suppose your lady wife does not know that Lady Lysa is – or was – unable to conceive because once upon a time she was carrying Petyr Baelish’s child and her father saw fit to tear it out of her? Or if she does, that she never shared that information with you?”

The flabbergasted expression on Stark’s face suggests that _no_ , he had no idea.

“I suppose so. They had an agreement. He’d be with me on the side and she’d be with Baelish on hers, though I think that she lost her taste for him when she realized she could be raising _my_ children instead. For the first one, in the beginning Cersei told me I could see him on the side, then he told me that the lady was so _happy_ to look after him, and with what she had gone through, surely I would understand? I fell for that twice. The third time, I tried to bargain. I told him I’d be fine with bearing the shame of having a child out of wedlock if it meant keeping one of them at all, I told him a lot of other things, I still could not even talk to them outside of formal occasions until they were old enough to not ever doubt I was their _aunt_.” She’s taking a certain joy in seeing how Stark’s face turns horrified by the second. “At least she couldn’t poison two of them against me the same as she did with the first. However, _someone_ killed Joffrey, good bloody riddance, and since then, my sweet brother has been very persistent in asking me to give him a third heir. Because I’m _the only woman worthy of bearing him any children_.”

“Joffrey died _months_ ago,” Stark blurts, sounding like he wants to throw up.

“My lord Stark, why do you think I cut my hair and that I spend my days drinking moon tea? I never said I _wanted_ to bear him another child. But now he found out that I was drinking moon tea, and that’s why I currently am not looking my best. Now, what is it that you wanted to know this very important piece of information for? Because if it’s anything that might get me out of my current situation, I would like to fucking hear it.”

“Good gods,” Stark whispers, “I just – if I think – never mind. Maybe you should want to hear what I have to say, then.”

“Do go ahead.”

Stark moves closer. Then –

“Can we trust _him_ , then?” He said, nodding towards Byrn.

Byrn clears his throat. “My lord, your son Bran happened to climb that old tower in Winterfell while me and the lady here were occupying it. The day you were out on that hunt.”

Stark’s eyes go so wide, Jaime has to laugh.

“You can ask him for confirmation,” Byrn goes on, “but I think you understand the reasons why I _might_ be trustworthy.”

“Right. _Right_. Well then, I – I told you someone planted a seed in my ear before.”

“As in?”

“It was Varys,” Ned Stark says, and somehow that does _not_ sound implausible to Jaime at all. “He approached me saying that he’s working for the realm and might have put together a number of people who are _not_ happy with your brother’s ruling. Him first and foremost.”

“Let me guess,” Jaime says, “Joffrey’s on him, is he?”

“I am afraid so,” Ned Stark goes on. “I think he was in agreement with the Tyrells and someone else he would not mention. What suffices to say is that _no one_ in the Small Council likes your brother as a ruler. And – usually, I would not – I mean, betraying my king is nothing I would do in any regular occasion, but –”

“Bastards born of incest should not rule over the Seven Kingdoms?”

“That, too, but that’s not the point. The point is that – from what I heard Joffrey would have been a catastrophically bad king, and your brother’s not one just because his father’s holding his reins, but what happens when and if Tywin Lannister dies? Your brother – he’s also been notified. Varys figured he had no love lost for Cersei. He confirmed that there has been more than one attempt on his life, lately.”

“Of course,” Jaime snorts, “Cersei does not relish the idea of Casterly going to _him_. Tell me something I do not know.”

Ned sighs. “That not all of Rhaegar’s children are dead.”

At _that_ , Jaime doesn’t feel like laughing anymore.

“ _How_ ,” she whispers. Gods, if it’s true –

 _If it’s true_ –

“My lady, would my, uh, honorable reputation presume that I would cheat on my lady wife not even a year after marrying her?”

“Well, that’s what half of the realm has wondered at some point,” Jaime admits.

“And what do you think I was doing in Dorne during the Rebellion?”

“Finding your sister, what a –” Jaime starts, and then – _then_ she realizes. “Wait a moment. She was – she ran off with Rhaegar, didn’t she – oh. _Oh_.”

“My _bastard son_ ,” Ned Stark whispers, “who is currently at the Wall under strict orders of _not_ taking his vows, because I had a feeling there was something wrong in this entire business since the beginning, was actually my sister’s, and from what she told me right before she died, he wasn’t much of a bastard to _her_. Now, what I want to ask you, is, would _you_ support that claim should we make it public, with all the needed caution?”

Jaime wants to laugh. She really wants to. Instead, her hand slips into Byrn’s, who holds it at once, and –

“My lord,” she says, “I would do more than support it. Actually, there is a story you and your little circle of conspirators would like to know, and I shall tell it to you if you grant me a couple of things before I do.”

“As in?”

“I live and my two children live, and no one tells them the truth. I’m not so selfish that I’d want their world destroyed completely.”

“Of course,” Stark assures her.

“Good. Then, I think you should like to hear how Aerys Targaryen _really_ died,” she says, and then she tells him.

All of it.

And the thing is – she had never thought it would feel liberating, but it does, and she doesn’t dare think that this plan is going to work and she’ll be fucking free, but –

But it _might_ , and it’s enough for now.


	3. III

“Ser,” Lord Arryn tells Byrn, his voice low enough that only the few people in the small room they’re conferring in can hear him, “you _are_ aware you are agreeing to treason against the crown.”

“Technically, I’m agreeing to _restoring_ the crown,” Byrn replies. “My lord, honestly, I might be young, but I am not _that_ bloody daft. I know what I’m doing. And thanks to some good counsel, I did not swear fealty to the king specifically.”

“Well, now it would be useful to have a man in the Kingsguard,” Lord Arryn says, “but that’s neither here nor there. What I meant is, I don’t doubt you know what you’re doing. Is your family aware of it?”

“No,” Byrn says, “and I will keep it that way. If this goes wrong and they don’t know, they won’t suffer the consequences.”

“Knowing Cersei, that might be too much to hope,” Tyrion Lannister says, “but that’s neither here nor there, and if we play our cards right, our valiant knight might pretend he never knew what was going on here at all.”

“Sorry?” He’s _not_ going to back out. He gave his word.

“I mean,” Tyrion says, “that I am fairly sure that your priority here is making sure my sister does not lose her neck, which requires for you to be _here_ , and if you’re here, you have to pretend you’re with the crown. If it goes wrong, just play it safe. We aren’t going to sell you out.”

Which – is reasonable, Byrn reasons. He doesn’t like all this scheming, and the idea of being in a _conspiracy against the crown_ would have sounded like blasphemy to the person he was when he left Tarth.

But now –

Now he’s _not_ , and he thinks, _if he’s so cruel with_ her _, and with his family, what kind of king would he be when Tywin Lannister is gone?_

“Very well. I swore you all that I would help out. What is the plan?”

Lord Tyrion clears his throat – they must have tasked him with retelling it. He glances at the rest of the room – it’s them, Lord Arryn, Varys, Jory Cassel – the man Ned Stark left in King’s Landing before going back North with an excuse and bringing his daughter along –, Renly Baratheon (who’s apparently here on behalf of both his brothers, too – Robert Baratheon might have always regretted that Cersei was on the throne before _he_ reached the room) and Loras Tyrell, whose family is apparently not happy with how Cersei seem to use Highgarten as his personal bank, without – of course – returning any of the money.

“Ned Stark is going back to Winterfell,” Lord Tyrion says, “after passing through Riverrun. Brynden and Edmure Tully should be notified first, but they had discussed the matter by raven, though not in detail, and both of them agreed to the plan with the guarantee that the queen stays alive. Then again, this plan does _not_ call for anyone’s death unless absolutely necessary. When Stark arrives in Winterfell, he _will_ send a raven here putting into discussion Cersei’s legitimacy, and _Joffrey’s_. Not the other two children. My sister is ready to confirm that story, should things go the way we hope. Anyway, that should not be our main concern now. Of course, Cersei will deny it, but that’s not the point, because after he does, and after _all_ of the people in this room along with Oberyn Martell – Lord Arryn sent Dorne a few ravens and they all are eager to avenge Elia’s death and play along – will have asked for explanations, Lord Stark _is_ going to play the most important card.”

“The – the true heir to the throne?” Loras Tyrell inquires.

“That one exactly. He’s going to say that _he_ is harboring the only surviving son of Rhaegar’s, _and_ legitimate heir to the throne, and at that point the natural course of things would call for a trial. But Cersei will _never_ accept such a thing. Which means it’s going to be either _with_ him or without. Of course, this requires that _all_ of the remaining kingdoms declare for Ned Stark, or, I suppose, _Jon Targaryen_ , but that is also taken care of. Now, the problem is that Cersei will _not_ take this in stride, and he _will_ lash out, but if everyone else is against him, it should be fairly easy to surround King’s Landing and walk inside. Kings can be made and unmade, of course. Now, here comes _your_ part to play, Ser.”

“I – I am listening.”

“This plan also requires my sister confirming that Cersei _never_ , in fact, killed the mad king, which is the main reason he could claim the throne in the first place. Now, we can be reasonably sure that he will _not_ worry about having any more children, but he _will_ worry about where she stands, because he _will_ know she’s set to betray him. Now, I am sure we are all invested in the lady’s well-being, and no one more than you. I, of course, will not be in the city anymore – I am planning for my escape just in time for Ned Stark’s first raven. Which means that _you_ have to keep her alive. Possibly, _not_ resorting to running away, because that would give you out.”

Too bad that it was the first thing he thought of.

Then he understands.

“I should volunteer for the Kingsguard, shouldn’t I?”

Lord Tyrion nods. “It would put you in a _splendid_ position, because Cersei would think you’re on his side and he would count on _you_ to carry out whichever plans he puts together. But only do it after the first raven comes, because he _will_ be worried enough to not question your motives any further. And if we fail, it means you can keep on doing what you can for her and your motives are not doubted, either.”

“That means I should do _his_ bidding, though,” Byrn says, with a heavy heart. “But – never mind that. If that’s the best way, then I shall do it. But the next king should absolve me from that duty immediately.”

“Why,” Lord Renly asks, “you aren’t planning on being _chaste_?”

Byrn _knows_ his cheeks blush a very, very fiery red at the implication. “Does _everyone_ but the king know?” He groans.

“The most blind man is the one who doesn’t wish to see what’s in front of him,” Lord Tyrion says. “And believe me, you don’t know how many people I had to send Clegane after to put the fear of the Seven into them so that they wouldn’t even dare _talk_ about the two of you being up to entirely not chaste things.”

Maybe, Byrn thinks, they really should have been more careful.

Too bad that he cannot find it in himself to regret a second of it.

“Very well. I will do as you say.”

“Then,” Varys says, “let’s all hope that our endeavor is successful.”

 _Yes_ , Byrn thinks, _let’s hope._

\--

He’s moderately comforted when things go according to plan – of course, no one expects that _Ned Stark_ out of anyone would do such a thing, which makes the situation spiral into chaos, which in turn makes his appointment to the Kinsguard fairly easy. The king doesn’t question for a moment that he might _not_ mean it.

He’s also too busy to pay attention to his sister whatsoever, which means that they _do_ have time to meet in the gardens, albeit in the middle of the night and with a lot more precautions than usual.

“I see that my worst nightmare _has_ come true after all,” she says, sounding resigned. “White _does_ look good on you, though.”

“I hope it won’t be for long,” he replies truthfully – to think that once upon a time he had _dreamed_ of donning that cloak and follow in his grandfather’s footsteps.

He has a feeling that Duncan the Tall served a way better monarch.

“I should hope so, too,” Jaime sighs. “Anyhow, I – I just wanted to – give you fair warning. I know about the plan. It’s not a _bad_ plan. But if you want Cersei to _not_ suspect you at all, you can’t _not_ do his bidding.”

“I know that,” he says, not relishing it.

“It means that if he decides to put you outside my room while he tries to have his heir, you _have_ to bear it.”

“I won’t –” He starts, outraged, but then he realizes that no, he _does_ have to if he wants the plan to work.

“Listen to me,” she says, her hands wrapping around his own. She has a hell of a strong grip. He can believe _she_ killed the Mad King. “We want this to work. If it happens, it won’t be anything I haven’t had to stand before and you’d put _everything_ at risk. _Let it happen_. I will know your feelings about it, regardless. But it’s valid if he asks you to do _anything_ that might harm me somehow.”

“I could – I could say I’m also sworn to –”

“To protect _me_? You could, but you would just give him reasons to suspect and he already suspects _something_ , since the tourney. And – never mind. I will live, whatever he has in plan for me. I survived him for my entire life, I will endure it if it means I get to have him out of it. And I quite want you _alive_ when it happens. _Understood_?”

“Understood,” he sighs, because she was entirely too clear. “I – I won’t like a moment of it if it comes to pass, but I will. Just – you _have_ to know it’ll be the hardest thing I might ask of myself in my entire life. Until now, anyway.”

“I know,” she says, her mouth curling up in that smirk of hers that _does_ reach her eyes. “Maybe it won’t even happen. But – just do _his_ bidding. I’ll know you don’t want to.”

“Fine,” he says, “ _fine_.”

They can’t indulge in more talking or niceties – he kisses her hands and watches her disappear in the darkness.

Gods.

If anyone ever told him he’d do something that goes against _everything_ he holds dear for the sake of a woman a year ago he’d have scoffed at them – he never was the kind of man that women lose their heads for, and he knows it, and he had honestly doubted of ever ending up in _that_ kind of romance.

Now he wouldn’t scoff at them at all.

He hopes that his time donning white will be short and that he won’t have to rue the moment he agreed to _that_ specific plan.

\--

Admittedly, everything goes as well as hoped and predicted until Ned Stark rebels _for good_ , and the entire realm finds out that a son of Rhaegar’s still lives – who, as far as people know, might have been raised a bastard, but was raised by _Ned Stark_ , served a while at the Night’s Watch, is _not_ (or so people whisper) some kind of arrogant asshole and who actually could do the job a _lot_ better than Joffrey ever could have.

Byrn wouldn’t have been surprised that _everyone_ would declare for _him_ , if he hadn’t known it was all planned.

The Tullys are the only ones who _seem_ to declare for Cersei, for obvious reasons, but Byrn has reasons to suspect it might be a ruse, too, since he knows both Blackfish and Edmure Tully were warned. He’s just going to wait and see, he supposes, but of course Cersei is livid.

 _Beyond_ livid.

At least, he doesn’t seem to take it out on his immediate family, even if Byrn is pretty sure those poor children will be forever traumatized by the events. The times he had been tempted to just walk inside the throne room and tell the king to _not_ scream at them as if they were somehow responsible when they don’t even _know_ , but he can’t.

Shit, now he _does_ understand fully what Jaime meant with, _that white cloak will soil you soon enough_. He feels dirty inside and he’s been doing this for not even two moons.

Of course, heads roll. Apparently, the times Lord Tywin could keep his son in check are over, not that Byrn’s much surprised. Anyone who’s even remotely suspected of not being faithful to the crown dies – Byrn is grateful that Lord Tyrion fled the city, really. On top of that, of course, he barely sees Jaime because of _course_ he’s never assigned to watch over _her_ , which does nothing to ease his nerves about how this entire affair is going.

He _really_ hopes this ends soon. He assumes everyone will just storm the city and be done with it, but –

But it takes a long time to get an army here _from the North_ , and that’s the most important one since the next king is with Ned Stark.

He hopes he can hold on to his vows more than to his principles, for that long.

\--

“I’ve been told you’re with _them_ ,” Brynden Tully whispers to him the night the Tully forces arrive – it’s only him leading them, though, but then again his nephew _had_ to stay in Riverrun.

“I am,” Byrn whispers back, hoping that they’re as alone in the gardens as they seem to be.

“Good. Because you should know that my soldiers are under orders to _not_ do a thing when – when I suppose _everyone else_ storms the city. Just in case something happens to me.”

“Why would _anything_ happen to you?”

“Because Cersei is a paranoid bastard and my niece’s brow was covered in cold sweat when I greeted her. I have a feeling she knows I would _not_ appreciate hearing of the ruse she was part of.”

“I am afraid –”

“I _know_ already. And as much as I loathe going against my own blood or having to choose in between my own blood, I cannot – I cannot stand for that travesty.”

“I am sorry. Honestly.”

“I can see that you are. Well, let’s just hope this ends without any bloodshed no one asked for.”

If only.

“Do you know how long should we have to wait?”

“Not much, they said they’d give me enough time to get here before moving on for real.”

Which would mean, a couple of weeks at most, maybe three.

 _It could be worse_ , Byrn thinks, _it could be a month or longer_.

Meanwhile, he’ll be glad when he can get rid of this damned cloak.

\--

Another week passes by.

Going around King’s Landing is _not_ a good experience – no one can leave or enter without a royal permit, of course, which does not bode well as far as food is concerned because of course what’s headed for the Red Keep passes through, what isn’t… not as much. Byrn wonders if Cersei’s downfall will be hungry commoners before an army as he sneaks out leftovers from the kitchen and brings as much as he can manage to Flea Bottom.

Good thing no one ever asks after the leftovers, he thinks.

And then –

“The king wants _you_ on guard outside his room tonight,” Ser Trant tells him when he’s back.

“Very well,” Byrn replies, feeling a certain dread settle in his gut.

 _Please,_ he thinks, _please let it be some kind of coincidence_.

\--

It’s not.

\--

He doesn’t know how he _doesn’t_ storm into the room the moment Jaime closes the door behind her.

It’s probably because she sends him a look that says _don’t you dare do anything stupid_.

If it had been _just_ him, he probably would have done something stupid anyway, but Ser Trant is there and he keeps himself in check.

Enough to just stand there and do nothing, of course, but by the time he can surmise that it’s done and over, he hasn’t even tried wiping away the tear tracks on his face.

“ _How_ can we just do nothing?” He hisses as he hears noise of someone getting up from the bed in the room.

“You swore to protect the king, now shut the fuck up,” Ser Trant curtly says, and at least he _does_ sound moderately ashamed.

Byrn doesn’t tell him that he _should_ sound ashamed, same as _him_.

The king walks out of the room not long later. He looks up at Byrn with a smile that Byrn wants to wipe off his face very much, and he doesn’t do anything of the kind just because he _did_ promise not to.

“I see that our newest recruit might need a few lessons in how the world works,” Cersei says, and Byrn says nothing.

“Well, shall we go back to my chambers, my lords?”

And now he even has to _follow_ him.

Byrn takes a deep breath and does not move from outside the royal chambers until Ser Arys Oakheart comes to relive him from his shift on guard.

He considers going back to his room as he _should_ , but –

But there’s a limit to how much he can compromise.

\--

He does go back to his room, but just to change into his regular clothes. He checks the corridor – it’s empty.

Then he finds a _note_ outside the door.

 _What in the Seven Hells_ , he thinks, and takes the note.

_You might find that there’s a way to the lady’s chambers starting from behind your wardrobe._

It’s signed _a friend_ , but given what Byrn knows and _who_ is accounted for, he has a feeling it might be Varys.

He has no idea what game is the man playing but it should be on his side, at least. He grabs a knife, then opens his own wardrobe. He has never put much interest in it save for using it for its intended purpose, and the wall is definitely shared with the next room over, but –

But there’s _something_ on the pavement that looks like a hatch.

He tries to lift the cover and – well, _damn it_ , there is in fact a tunnel going downwards.

He assumes that it has to be one-way or that note would have at least provided him with the necessary directions, and he lowers himself downwards, closing the hatch over his head, after finding a candle lest he really gets lost beneath the Red Keep.

It _is_ in fact, one-way. He walks for a while, turns a few corners and then the tunnel ends abruptly. There’s a hatch above him, though. He tries it – it opens.

And then his face is covered in ashes – right. It has to end in the fireplace. He coughs, and –

“What in the seven hells,” Jaime says.

He lifts himself from the hatch. “Someone – I think Varys – saw fit to inform me that there was a passage in between our rooms – oh, _fuck_.”

He rarely swears, but now he _has_ to, because –

It’s been hours.

And the bed’s sheets are bloodied, Jaime’s arm is tied in a piece of cloth torn from another sheet that’s really not doing much to stop it and while her face is thankfully free of any sign whatsoever, there’s a bruise around her neck which makes Byrn’s blood drain from his face.

“What is _that_ ,” he asks, reaching the bed.

“He wanted to make sure I wouldn’t make _too much noise_ ,” she laughs, but there’s no mirth in it. It’s the kind of desperate laugh you go for if the alternative is crying your eyes out. “Good thing he hasn’t been here in a while and he doesn’t know I burned my previous set of sheets. I was _on_ my moon blood and he didn’t even notice.”

Byrn wishes he could ignore the implications.

“So –”

“So there is no way I’m carrying any child, but he wouldn’t have known. Fuck. I really hope Ned Stark and the rest get here soon.”

The piece of sheet covering her arm falls off – Byrn doesn’t need to ask _how_ it happened, given that there’s a broken glass on the ground.

“I need to stop having my wine in _glasses_ ,” Jaime sighs. “Anyway, _how_ are you even here?”

“Someone left a note outside my door telling me that there’s a hatch going from my wardrobe to your fireplace – I think it has to be Varys. Never mind. No one knows I’m here then.”

“I wouldn’t linger too long. If they look for you –”

“I was relieved of my watch not even an hour ago, they won’t come look for me for a few hours. Just – wait a moment.”

He goes back to the chimney and gathers some of the leftover ashes – they should be good for now. He comes back to the bed and spreads them cautiously over the wound. Jaime hisses but it’s obvious that it _does_ moderately work – he gets some more and the bleeding stops soon enough.

“Shit,” she says, “I could have thought about it. It’s not like I haven’t used that on my brother for a hell of a long time.”

“Lord Tyrion?”

“He went through a _lot_ of clothes,” she explains. She’s silent as he finds some water in a pitcher, good thing she kept some around, and wets a cloth. He cleans as much blood off her as he can, and he thinks he _really_ has never felt such un-knightly instincts as _right now_ , but –

But he hasn’t ever seen her so _resigned_ , and that bruise around her neck just makes his blood boil in anger.

 _Focus, damn it_ , he thinks. Ser Goodwin always used to tell him that he tended to act a bit too rashly when _righteous matters_ were involved, and that he should just take a step back and _think things through_ instead of acting righteously at once.

He can’t do anything as overt as smuggling Jaime out of the city without being noticed, and the plan _also_ hinges on him stopping any other Kingsguard that might presume to help Cersei when the others inevitably storm in. He can’t afford to end up in the dungeons or anything of the kind, and neither can she –

But –

 _But_ , it’s a couple of weeks left, at most a month. _At most_.

And as far as he knows, women with child might not show for as long as that.

“Tell him you’re with child,” he blurts a moment later.

“ _What_?”

“I was outside _today_ , but when was the previous time?”

“A – a couple of weeks ago. Maybe.”

“You just said he doesn’t know you’re having your moon blood right now. Which means that if you did _not_ have it – well, you _could_ have missed it.”

“Byrn, he’ll fucking _notice_.”

“ _Maybe_ , but it would take another month for him to actually think about it. Was he even there for the others?”

“No,” she admits. “No, he wasn’t.”

“So he _wouldn’t_ know when you would start to show, would he? By the time you _should_ , this entire mess might be over. And at that point at worst he locks you up in the room so you don’t do anything to change your condition and at best he leaves you alone – I don’t really think he’d want to risk your life if you’re carrying his precious third heir now, would he?”

“That – that has merit,” Jaime says, obviously considering it. “And it might buy me some time at worst.”

“Just – I know that if he finds out it’d be a disaster, but he’s too concerned with the rebellion, I think. And this is really too fucking much.”

She touches her own neck, wincing. “Maybe you’re right,” she agrees. “Actually fuck it, I know you’re right. I’m just tired of having to fight my damned way out of this,” she sighs, and as he puts his arm gently around her waist he really hopes she won’t have to do it for long.

\--

He knows he has to leave. He _knows_ –

But damn it, he can’t do it just like that.

He helps her change her sheets and bandages her arm properly – now it’s not bleeding out that much anymore. Then he takes a deep breath and decides to just ask the damned question.

“Jaime, I – I would not want to presume anything, and I do not know if you have plans for when this whole mess is over –”

“Byrn, I have no plans whatsoever beyond leaving this bloody castle and not setting foot back in Casterly. If I’m lucky – Stark told me he’d be amenable to bring Myrcella and Tommen to foster at Winterfell, which would be fairly better for them than any other option, given that Lysa will _have_ to pay some price. Maybe Lady Stark will be so nice to let me visit there for a few months. If I’m lucky. Otherwise I guess I will see. If you have a better proposal, please do share.”

He takes another deep breath, then takes her face in his hands again, his thumb careful to _not_ touch her neck.

“I was going to say, if you wish to come to Tarth for a while, you’d be welcome.” It wasn’t _quite_ what he had wanted to ask, but somehow _that_ question seems better asked in another setting. “I mean, it’s not as grand as here or Casterly or Winterfell, but I would be honored to show you the place, and – well, I left because it was so calm there really were no smallfolk to help or maidens to save. Not exactly the best place for knightly deeds.”

“Somehow,” she says, her mouth smiling ever so slightly, “that sounds delightful to me right now. I – I think I should like to accept, _if_ everything goes to plan.”

As her mouth meets his, he doesn’t think he’s ever hoped harder for anything in his life.

\--

He doesn’t stay as much as he’d have liked, but enough to help her change the sheets, bandage her arm properly and make sure she’s as comfortable as it gets.

He doesn’t sleep much before he’s roused for his guard – thankfully it’s the children this time – but it’s good enough. He wouldn’t have slept much anyway.

\--

A week later, he comes out of the fireplace in Jaime’s room and she informs him that it _did_ work – Cersei just left the room when she told him and assured him she wouldn’t try to do anything to get rid of the baby.

Good. Now he just hopes the others hurry up.

\--

He’s not disappointed. Another seven days and King’s Landing is literally surrounded. Cersei is _furious_ , and he doesn’t know that the Tully army inside the city is on orders to actually open the doors during the night.

Byrn is _almost_ hoping that it might all be done and over come morrow.

That is, until Jaime walks out of his wardrobe wearing an old, dark cloak as he dons his armor.

“What –” He starts.

“I can’t stay here for long,” she says, “there are both Ser Trant and Ser Blount standing outside my door and they’ll notice if I don’t make noise for too long. Just – whatever they tell you to do tonight, try to stay close to my brother. I don’t like the look he had on his face during dinner.”

“Any specific reason to?”

“It’s just – I have a horrible feeling about what he might be planning. He’s not so stupid that he wouldn’t understand he’s done for, but he’s not going without a fight. Pay attention, all right?”

“All right,” he says, and she nods before going back the way she came from.

A moment later, he’s told to hurry and come forward, they need to organize the palace’s defenses.

 _As if_ , Byrn thinks, and tells Ser Arys that he’ll come along in a moment, as soon as he’s done donning the armor.

He’s done fairly soon, but instead of heading for the Lord Commander’s tower, he goes for the throne room.

The door is closed, which is not _usual_. But there’s people inside, and –

“Have you understood?”

“Perfectly, Your Grace.”

Wait. That’s – isn’t that that disgraced Maester who Cersei took in a few months ago? Qyburn, Byrn thinks was the name. He showed up a while ago, asked for an audience and the king actually kept him around court, to the displeasure of the Master Pycelle. Not that Pycelle ever voiced it, but that goes unsaid.

“Of course, see to smuggle my sister, the Queen and the children out towards Casterly Rock before putting things in motion. _Then_ we shall see who has the last laugh. Are you sure that the Red Keep won’t be touched?”

“Indeed, Your Grace. The wildfire has been planted cautiously and it will only take the parts of the city that will be flooded with soldiers first, and of course Blackwater Bay. Admittedly, a lot of commoners will die, and I am afraid the Great Sept of Baelor will be done for –”

“Well, that’s unfortunate but we shall live with it.”

Byrn’s blood goes cold. Of course Jaime would have a bad feeling about that, if she had seen the Mad King doing the same back in the day.

And of course Cersei thinks _most of the commoners_ dying in the process, never mind his own army, is a worthy sacrifice as long as everyone else is annihilated. And why would he care, when his father is already safe in Casterly and the rest of the family shall follow soon?

What had Jaime told him once?

That they only needed _one_ kingslayer in between the two of them?

Well. Maybe – maybe he can do _something_ without necessarily resorting to kill _Cersei_.

No one is around. Cersei might have made sure no one would hear.

Bad decision, really.

He takes a deep breath, unsheathes his sword and hopes that the door isn’t locked.

It’s _not_.

“Your Grace,” he says, walking inside, “I think not.”

\--

“Look at who’s here,” Cersei says, and Byrn does not like how he’s smiling. He locks the door before either him or Qyburn can reach him, and then holds out the sword.

“Look at it indeed,” Byrn says. “Maester Qyburn, if I were you I’d stay right where I am. Your Grace, that’s valid for you, too.”

“Ser, you certainly are not sounding very convincing,” Cersei says. “All that politeness isn’t effective when you are menacing someone.”

“I am not _menacing_ you,” Byrn replies, taking a step forward. “I am stating a fact. I cannot let you burn the entire city and while I do not want to go down in history as the kingslayer of a kingslayer, I _will_ do it if it means saving lives.”

“You do not seem too keen on keeping your _oaths_ , Ser,” Cersei sneers, but does not come closer.

“The lives of an entire city are more important than my oaths. That said, the first vow I ever swore was to _protect the innocent_ , not to protect _you_.”

“That might be so,” Cersei says, “but how would you define yourself a paragon of virtue after that? Because I had a feeling you were working in that direction.”

“Your Grace, I think you are missing the part where I put the lives of an entire city above my needs or wants. Maester, do _not_ take another step forward or I _will_ strike you.”

“I really don’t think you will, or are harmless old men not _the innocent_ according to you?” the maester says. “I think I shall take my leave.”

And he _does_ head for the door.

Byrn has a feeling that until now, the king might have not taken him seriously at all.

Well, too bad. He moves forward and _does_ strike – not to kill, but surely Qyburn did not expect him to drop the sword, grab a small knife he always brings with just in case and stick in his shoulder.

In a point that should prevent the man from using his right arm ever again, unless he missed the hit, and from the way Qyburn screams, he knows he has not.

He takes back the sword.

“No,” he says, “you shan’t.”

When he looks back at Cersei, the king is not laughing anymore.

“Your Grace,” Byrn says again, and he doesn’t know if he ever was this _angry_ in his life, but he manages to keep his voice under control, “I don’t think you are understanding your position. I _will_ not let anyone burn this entire city. Him, you or whoever else. I didn’t kill him because there was no need, but I _would_ if there was, and same goes for you.”

“You _wouldn’t_ ,” Cersei spits. “What’s of your _honorable vows_ , Ser? No one will ever take seriously a _Kingsguard_ knight who slew his own king.”

“Your Grace, I have the distinct feeling that you, how shall I say, form opinions about people and then do _not_ even try to consider they might be wrong. Please, do sit on that throne of yours.”

Cersei swallows and does, and Byrn follows him up the stairs leading to it and stops on the side, so that he can check that Qyburn doesn’t try to leave and can keep the door under control, and Cersei as well.

“Because,” he keeps on, “if you did, you would understand that while I do hold my oaths in very high regard, I wouldn’t let them trump over the lives of _real people_.”

“Right, and you’re committing treason right now. A shining example of knightly virtue.”

Byrn ponders whether he should tell the truth or not. Then he figures that there’s no point in hiding it.

“Well, given that I actually had declared for _the other side_ before taking this cloak, I am technically not committing treason.”

“You did _what_?”

Cersei attempts to stand up.

Byrn moves the sword closer and he sits back down.

“I only ever asked to be in the Kingsguard to make sure _this_ kind of thing would not happen. But I shall be happy to declare for Rhaegar’s son when it’s time to. And if it came to having to kill you, well, you should know at least I _will_ take responsibility for it and I won’t _pretend someone else did it_ so they could sit on this blasted trap.”

It’s, admittedly, very satisfying to see the blood drain from Cersei’s face. “How would you _know_?”

“Do you think he gave me that blasted crown just out of not having any other choice?”

Wait, what –

Right, Byrn figures as Jaime shows up on the balcony, he hadn’t checked the doors upstairs, figuring no one would use them.

“What are _you_ doing there?” Cersei asks, and then “Wait, _he didn’t_?”

“No,” Byrn says, “I gave it to her because I honestly thought she was the fairest woman in attendance. And she might have told me the entire story.”

“The same way I told Ned Stark,” Jaime says, and at that Cersei’s face twists into pure anger, but he still doesn’t stand up. Not when he has steel inches from his throat.

“You _told Ned Stark_?”

“Of course I did. I also told him that his nephews are technically _mine_ , and that I’d be glad to leave this entire bloody castle to him and his bastard, who’s technically not one, I suppose. I figured I should wait, but then I found out I really could not.”

“ _How_ could you?”

“My, my, you _really_ cannot accept that people are not what _you_ decided they should be?” She sighs, then walks down the stairs until she’s in the room per se, and then walks up to the two of them, stopping just before the throne. “I loved you once,” she tells him, staring at him straight in the eyes. “I would have never stopped, if you actually _loved me back_.”

“I –”

“No,” she interrupts him, “you only ever loved yourself and the moment I did something you did _not_ like it was obvious that you’ve always seen me as some extension of _yourself_. And I was dumb enough to think I wasn’t worth anything more than that even after I realized it.”

She pauses for a moment, then takes another step up the stairs. Now they’re seeing eye to eye.

No, Byrn thinks, she never was the kind of maiden you _save_.

“Well, I changed my bloody mind. _How could I_?” She pulls down the collar of her dress, showing the yellow bruise around her neck. “ _How could you_ , that’s the real question. And save the answer, I don’t want to hear it. I just want to see you get your due.”

It’d almost be amusing, seeing how her brother can’t seem to compute that information – he’s staring at her as if he doesn’t even conceive that she might have plotted against him all along.

“But –” He starts.

“If you want to say we should die together the way we were born together, save it. I’m done with that fairytale. If only I had understood how it really sounded like before wasting half of my life living in your shadow. Never mind. I shall be happy to wait here for Ned Stark, then.”

Byrn doesn’t move an inch as Jaime walks down the stairs, unlocks the door and tells Qyburn that he will of course get a _proper_ maester to look after him after he explains Stark and the others what Cersei was planning to do.

He can wait.

\--

Stark is, thankfully, not too late – he storms the room with all three Baratheons, Jon Arryn, Loras Tyrell and Tyrion in tow, and Cersei is of course not happy to see his brother among the rest.

“I should’ve had you murdered in the cradle,” he spits when Tyrion moves forward in front of him, as Byrn drags him downwards towards where everyone else is standing just under the throne.

“Too bad you didn’t,” Tyrion replies entirely too cheerfully.

“So what,” Cersei tells Ned Stark, “are you going to claim that throne the way you most probably always wanted?”

“No,” Stark replies at once. “My _nephew_ will, the moment Oberyn Martell manages to convince the smallfolk to let their group pass through. Given that they were bringing food and the likes, it might be a while. And before you complain about bastards inheriting the throne, I suggest you kindly think about it more than once.”

“Right, _she_ told you,” Cersei says, looking at Jaime in such a _betrayed_ way, it would _almost_ be heartbreaking if one didn’t know the whole story.

“Teaches you for only ever thinking for yourself,” Jaime says. “Just be thankful I care for _my_ children enough that I don’t want them to ever know the truth. And now, if my lords have no further need of me, I would like to start taking my goddamned leave. As in, permanently.”

“My lady,” Stannis Baratheon says, looking thoroughly disturbed by the entire conversation, “you mean, leaving King’s Landing?”

“Hopefully,” she replies. “It’s not as if there are a great lot of things I want to bring with. Of course, before I do I should like to talk to some people, including the _Queen_ , if she will talk to me, but I would like to start packing as soon as possible.”

“And where would you even go,” Cersei interrupts her, “ _Casterly_? Father will be delighted to have _you_ there.”

“Unless our gracious lords have changed their plans,” Jaime replies, “Father is not going to be able to do anything since Tyrion is going to take his place. He was your Hand _all along_ , after all. As far as where would I go, I have a destination already.”

“On this matter,” Byrn says, “I assume that Lord Stark will be either regent or Hand of the King when his nephew finally assumes his duties?”

“He’s almost a man grown,” Ned Stark says, “ _regent_ is out of the question. But Hand – I suppose I shall have to resign myself to it. Why?”

“Because then I will be glad to inform you I’m resigning from the Kingsguard, _at last_ ,” he tells him, and gets rid of the bloody white cloak. “I never wanted to be in it, anyway.”

“No one is keeping you against your will,” Stark replies, and _is he smiling ever so slightly_? “I imagine you won’t linger in court, either?”

“Just until the lady does,” he says, and _then_ Cersei seems to finally understand. “And _then_ I will be glad to escort her to Tarth.”

“ _What_ ,” Cersei blurts, and then Jaime laughs.

Byrn thinks it’s the first time since they met each other that she’s laughed for longer than a few seconds, and so hard that when she finally stops she’s wiping at her eyes. “Oh, I thought I had told you when I mentioned the _Queen of love and beauty_ matter,” she wheezes. “ _This_ is what it took for you to understand?”

“You _can’t_ ,” he replies. “Honestly? _Him_?”

Byrn doesn’t even bother feeling offended at the disdain that comes from the now former king – he had imagined it.

“It really is hard to see what’s in front of your nose, isn’t it?” Jaime says, and then she moves up to where he is and he doesn’t put any resistance when she grabs at his face and pulls his head down and gives him a kiss so thorough no one could doubt the feeling behind it.

“Oh, and by the way,” she says after they’re done, while Cersei still stares at them as if he can’t compute the scene at all, “I’m not pregnant, and good riddance. Shall we?”

She holds out her arm.

“My lady, _I’d be delighted_ ,” Byrn replies, and lets her loop it through his own arm.

\--

Two days later, he’s helping her go through her wardrobe – she already packed her mother’s things, and now she’s going through the dresses.

Unsurprisingly, every red and gold gown is being discarded. There are more than one – for now, Jaime has saved two for Myrcella, put the one she wore at the tourney apart because _she wants to burn that one personally_ , gifted another to a maid who couldn’t even believe it, and has another _six_ laid in front of her, and there are more in the closet.

“I think,” she says, “that maybe that maid might have a few friends who could use these.”

“Should I call her back?” Byrn asks.

“In a moment,” Jaime says, “I am expecting a visitor.”

Indeed, a few seconds later there’s a knock on the door.

“Lady Stark, please do come in,” Jaime says, and Catelyn Stark walks into the room a moment later.

“My lady,” she says politely, and she actually sounds – like she’s _awfully sorry_ for something, and Byrn can guess what. “Did you have need of me?”

“Yes,” Jaime replies at once. “First, I would like to thank you personally for – for agreeing to foster your nephews, even if we all know – well, _what we know_.”

“My lady, it’d be the least –”

“Let me finish. I know you didn’t have to, and I wouldn’t have begrudged you for not doing it. Just, please, never tell them the truth. They don’t deserve it and I don’t think it would do anyone any good. If your sister wants to see them after she gets through whatever light punishment awaits her, let her. They think _she_ ’s their mother, she should be able to. They – they should be happier with you, regardless.”

“Regardless?”

Jaime shrugs. “My lady, I also was in Winterfell. I saw how your children are with each other. Honest, I’d rather know they’re with _you_ than with anyone else related to _me_. Just, I’d appreciate a few updates once in a while. Other than that…” She turns her back on Lady Stark, then carefully takes the gowns she had set aside for Myrcella. They’re cleaned and carefully folded.

“I wore these _before_ the rebellion. They should fit… my daughter soon enough. I would be glad if you kept them for her.”

“Of course,” Lady Stark immediately agrees, taking them. “That would be the least. Was that all?”

“It was.”

“Then – may I have a word, too?”

“Of course.”

“Should I leave?” Byrn asks, not wanting to accidentally intrude.

“There’s no need, ser,” Lady Catelyn says, “it’s nothing you couldn’t imagine. Very well. My lady, I – I had no idea that my sister actually agreed to that travesty.”

“No one had except my brother and the people involved. And the Kingsguard, I guess, but never mind _that_. You couldn’t have known.”

“I couldn’t, but – I grew up with her. I hadn’t _known_ she would ever do that. I don’t even know what I’ll say to her when I talk to her later in the day. What she did is _not_ what family, duty and honor means. And – I had _five_. I can’t even think of how I’d feel if they took _one_ of them from me, never mind three, never mind _all of them_. Gods, after Ned told me the truth about Jon – it wasn’t from the beginning, he waited a bit, but eventually he did, I felt _horrible_ for having not treated him as fairly as I could have. I don’t even want to know how you bear it. And I am awfully sorry for what she caused you.”

Jaime obviously hadn’t expected to hear _that_ – it’s obvious from how her eyes widen and how she obviously has to think of a proper answer rather than replying at once. “I – apologies accepted, my lady, even if _yours_ weren’t really necessary. As for how I bear it…” She shrugs. “It’s been eight years since the last one. At some point, you learn to cope with it and there’s really no point beating myself up over it anymore.”

“I understand,” Lady Stark says, “but regardless, I – it seems like you are finding happiness somewhere else and I hope you get it. It’d be the least.” She takes back the gowns. “And there are two other things I should tell you, and then I’ll be out of your way.”

“Very well.”

“The first is that if _you_ want to visit Winterfell, you are welcome at any time, of course. The second is – maybe you’re right and my nephews are more Lysa’s than yours, but regardless, that makes them family, and I should like to think I know my own House’s words. If you’re their mother, then you are as well. Just keep it in mind.”

She curtsies and leaves with the gowns without waiting for a reply, but she wouldn’t have gotten one, Byrn thinks, not by the way Jaime’s looking at her as she leaves.

He thinks she’s about to break down in tears, but then she sniffs and shakes her head and calls for the maid, and tells her to bring over any friends in the staff, if she has them.

“Are – are you all right?” He asks her when the maid’s gone.

“I – yes,” Jaime replies, not very convincingly. “She just caught me off guard.”

Byrn doubts it, he really does, but he doesn’t push on that. Instead –

Instead he thinks, _maybe now is the time_. He had thought of asking when they were in the gardens or maybe on Tarth, but he’s been wanting to for a long time, and –

“Maybe _I_ have a question that might catch you off-guard, too,” he whispers.

“Such as?”

He looks down at her lovely green eyes, and he thinks, _have I ever seen her cry in happiness_?

“First, I entirely understand if you say no. I mean, I know you just got your freedom back and you might want to enjoy it, and I also know that I wasn’t lying when I told your brother that asking for your hand would have meant aiming way too high, and I also know that you might not want to marry someone whose name is really beneath yours –”

“Wait,” she says, “are you asking what I think you’re asking?”

“I’m saying,” he blurts, trying to not falter _now_ , “is that nothing would make me happier than marrying you, should you even want to –”

He never finishes the sentence.

Because now she _has_ broken down in tears, but she’s also smiling, and – maybe –

“I _enjoyed freedom_ for my entire fucking life, if you don’t count the fact that it came with a price. I don’t know if you’re aiming that high, though.”

“How am I _not_?”

“Let’s not jape,” she says. “I’m _a lot_ older than you are. My family’s not exactly disgraced just because my brother supported that coup, and I’m still the sister of a deposed king. You call that _aiming high_?”

“What if I couldn’t care less about any of _that_ and I merely wanted to marry the woman I love?”

“And what if I could absolutely live with being married to the man I love?”

When the maid comes back with a good number of other maids, they walk in on them _still_ kissing, and they’re about to make a hasty retreat when Jaime tells them not to.

“You’re lucky,” she tells them, “I thought I wouldn’t need those anymore and now I’m _sure_ I will not. Please, you’re welcome to pick one, each of you.”

“My lady,” one of the incredulous maids says, “you can’t mean –”

“Oh, I do,” Jaime says. “After all, it seems like I soon shan’t wear any red at all. Please. You can sell them or wear them as long as you get them out of my sight forever.”

The girls thank her profusely as each of them chooses a leftover gown – some _do_ pick the one that might fit them best, Byrn notices, while others definitely don’t, but he figures they’ll just sell them and make good money out of it. After they’re done, the closet is empty of any red and gold dress that once resided in it.

“I was wondering,” she tells him a moment later, “didn’t – I mean, if we _do_ , wouldn’t it ruin your choices?”

He shrugs, and he knows he’s smiling without being able to stop it. If she minds his teeth, she’s not showing it at all.

“Well, my brother has things under control in Tarth, so I don’t _have_ to live there. You have an open invitation in Winterfell and I suppose also wherever your brother resides. I am sure that should you accept them at any point, I can protect the weak and save maidens also _there_. And I think that if we _do_ , it’s the coronation of my _choices_.”

He’s almost sorry to kiss such a lovely smile off her face.

 _Almost_.


	4. IV

Jaime is at waiting for him at the harbor when Tyrion’s ship lands, a week before the wedding.

Tyrion hadn’t seen his sister since the coup, and he almost doesn’t recognize her as he walks off the ship. It’s been some six moons since and the first thing he thinks is that the food on Tarth must be excellent, because she’s filled out quite some, her cheeks aren’t so gaunt anymore and she’s growing her hair out again – it’s nowhere near as long as it was when she cut it off, it barely reaches her shoulders, but it’s of a lovely, healthy golden blond color and he’s about to ask her _how_ well is Ser Byrn’s family actually treating her.

Then he notices the slight swell of her stomach.

“ _Well_ ,” he tells her, “I hadn’t imagined, but I suppose congratulations are in order?”

She smiles sheepishly. “Might be. I mean, who knows if it’s going to even come to term, with all the moon tea I had to drink, but – for now, it seems like they are in order.”

“Isn’t anyone objecting that they are to be had _before_ the wedding?”

She laughs. “Well, Lord Selwyn was apparently _despairing_ of his youngest ever _settling down_ and since his firstborn hasn’t sired yet he can’t wait for grandchildren running around the house. And honestly, as much as everyone is nicely _not_ reminding me that I might be too old for children soon, I’m not a goddamned idiot. I know that I don’t have all the time in the world. There are our rides.”

Indeed, there are a horse and a small pony tied to a tree next to the harbor. He mounts while Jaime does the same with her mare.

“Lord Selwyn wanted to send more people to receive you,” she says, “but I told him you wouldn’t care. And I figured talking in front of others wouldn’t have been a very good idea.”

“No,” Tyrion agrees, “and I don’t mind. So, I see it’d be useless to ask you whether your knight is treating you well. I mean, it’s fucking plain.”

“No one _treats me_ anything,” she laughs. “He’s being his usual self.”

“Then you’re in excellent hands. By the way, I told Father you actually had invited him. And our current ruler would have given him a permit to come.”

“Let me guess, he doesn’t want to see me _married beneath my name_?”

“That, and a lot of other things you probably wouldn’t care to hear.”

“His loss,” she shrugs. “According to the septa, this will be the grandest wedding this island’s ever had, which I suppose would be little for his standards.”

“And for yours?”

“Oh, it will be plenty enough.” Hells, she even _sounds_ radiant.

“For what it’s worth, you didn’t look half as lovely when you were seven and ten.”

“Flatterer,” she laughs, and he thinks he won’t ever tell her future husband to never try to break her heart or Tyrion will see him murdered in his sleep, since he has a feeling it couldn’t happen under any circumstance.

\--

In the next week, the island fills with wedding guests – half of the Starks arrive the day after Tyrion. Not Ned nor Jon, they couldn’t leave the capital, but Lady Stark comes with her firstborn (who has Theon Greyjoy in tow), and Sansa, who is _absolutely_ delighted to attend and proceeds to tell Jaime she had known this would happen since that absolutely _romantic_ moment when Byrn gave her the crown at the tourney, and Tyrion wants to laugh at the prospect that a twelve-year old girl understood what Cersei couldn’t in a moment. She also brings along her _wardens_ , and if they don’t understand the implications when Jaime tells them she hopes they’ll see a lot of their cousin when they’re born, patience.

Renly Baratheon shows up with Loras Tyrell and his sister in tow, and patience, too, if everyone knows that Margaery’s here for appearance. Edmure Tully also shows up sending his uncle’s regards and looking more contrite than the occasion would call for, but then he stops, Tyrion figures because he noticed how the bride to be does not seem to care for anything other than her future and is therefore not too concerned for past slights that he couldn’t help anyway. The Marbrands also come – they’re the only part of the family who did other than Aunt Genna who is seemingly resigned to her niece marrying _way_ beneath her name but who can’t exactly complain about it. Add about every halfway important lord from the Stormlands who _had_ to be invited at least out of courtesy, and on the wedding day the small sept is filled to the brink.

Tyrion also notices that there are a _lot_ of smallfolk outside, but apparently all of them really do have a fondness for _all_ of their lord’s children, especially the one who actually went out of the castle to help them solve their issues before they actually had to bring them to an audience. In lack of a father, Tyrion is told _he_ has to give his sister away, which he hopes will not turn into a mummer’s farce. He goes to her room before, since they should go down to the sept together.

When he walks inside the room, she looks _absolutely_ stunning. She’s wearing a pink and blue dress with the waistline moved up just under the breasts, which means that the swell of her stomach is hardly visible, and it falls on her splendidly, following her curves but not adhering too much. Her hair is styled in a short but neat braid, and –

“Jaime, is that a copy of that bloody crown he almost got you both fucked over for?”

“He said it would pair nicely with the dress. I agreed,” she answers, and – right. They’re the same shade of pink, and there are a few blue forget-me-nots interloped in it, too.

“Has anyone told the two of you that you’re _sickening_?”

“Maybe,” she laughs, and he figures he’ll let her enjoy her song-worthy wedding instead of needling her any further. She snorts as she ties the gold and red cloak around her shoulders lastly.

“Well, I’ll be rid of it soon enough. Shall we?”

He holds a hand out and they head to the sept.

\--

Ser Byrn doesn’t admittedly look any _prettier_ , Tyrion thinks as he leads his sister inside the sept, but he certainly cuts a striking figure when wearing _proper_ garb rather than old breeches and shirts that are mostly good to be worn under an armor. He’s also all dressed in blue, and the way he looks at his sister as she walks in –

No, Tyrion should really not worry about him possibly breaking her heart. He has a feeling the man would kill himself before doing that.

Which is all good in his book – he’s sure it’s not going to happen and he quite likes his almost brother in law, he doesn’t want him _dead_.

It’s also plenty obvious that neither groom nor bride pays attention to the septon, given that they’re too worry making eyes at each other. At one point, the septon realizes that no one is listening to him and cuts through the drivel and says it’s time to exchange cloaks. Ser Byrn takes the pink and blue one from his brother and by the time he’s done it, Jaime has already undone the clasp on hers and let it fall down to the ground.

“Good riddance,” she says, loud enough for people to hear, and then he slips the blue and pink one around her shoulders, tying it carefully.

The septon clears his throat and tells them they can go ahead and do their pledges.

Her fingers tangle with his. “With this kiss I pledge my love,” she says.

“With this kiss I pledge my love,” he echoes, and then they actually do kiss.

Tyrion has to whistle softly as they don’t _just_ kiss.

They throw their arms around each other, and she definitely slips her tongue inside his mouth before he can do the same, but he kisses back _very_ eagerly and at some point he fucking _lifts her up_ as they’re still kissing.

Good gods, Tyrion thinks, he’ll be thrice fucked if he’s not witnessing the one wedding he’s ever attended where both bride and groom actually _wanted_ it.

Then again, if it had to happen to someone, he’s only too glad it happened to his sister.

\--

Of course, _someone_ has to try to spoil the party, _try_ being the key word.

Tyrion decides he would _never_ want to be in place of their cousin Cleos Frey when Jaime walks by their table later and he asks her, _isn’t he a bit too green for the likes of you_.

If anything, because his sister has never given _him_ the frankly terrifying stare she’s giving their cousin right now.

“My lord,” she says sweetly, but it’s dripping contempt from every word, “I can assure you that _where it counts_ he’s hardly green at all. I am sure you would want to counsel with him before taking a wife, you’d be surprised.”

Tyrion snorts into his glass of wine while poor Cleos’s cheeks turn the color of ripe cherries and he proceeds to say nothing else for the entire evening.

 _Then_ , while Tyrion decides to take a walk lest his legs end up feeling entirely too cramped, he runs into some cousin of Jon Connington’s who’s sadly not so last in line to inherit his long-lost cousin’s lands, he thinks the name was Ronnet. He’s chatting with a bunch of other minor Stormlands lord who most probably got an invitation out of the fact that it’s very impolite that you do not invite your neighbors to your children’s weddings.

“Honest,” Connington says, “she’s good-looking for being _that_ old, but _who_ saddles themselves with _her_? I mean, look at her, sure as the seven hells she’s been everywhere. I’m halfway sure she must have accepted just because _no one_ would have her otherwise.”

Tyrion is half in mind of stopping and telling him to please avoid speaking ill of his sister, but he doesn’t need it, since _her husband_ suddenly shows up just behind Connington. Ser Hyle Hunt sends Connington a look that says _you’re on your own, I said absolutely nothing on this topic_.

“My lord,” Ser Byrn says, and Tyrion decides he would not want to be Connington right now, either. “I think you aren’t realizing _who_ you speak of.”

Tyrion kind of expects the punch. Connington evidently had not, but it’s so hard he spits a tooth. “You’re speaking of a highborn lady, and I can assure you that it’s not so bad, being the blushing maiden in a pair. You ever try to say something like that again, you’ll like it even less. Clear?”

“Clear, my lord,” Connington mutters, without even bothering to apologize – it’d have been useless.

Tyrion has a feeling that if _this_ doesn’t prove those two were made for each other, _nothing_ would.

\--

There’s no bedding, of course – not that anyone would have expected it. Bride and groom leave the room and head upstairs hand in hand.

Sansa Stark, who somehow ended up sitting next to Tyrion along with that friend of hers who also was in King’s Landing, is waxing poetical about this wedding being _better than the ones in songs and she should be glad to have one half as good_. Her friend laughs and tells her that her valiant knight is going to come her way soon, she’s sure of it, and they go back to stare at the stairs with such dreamy looks on their faces that Tyrion almost wishes he had been _that_ sure of such things, way back then.

Still, he won’t be the one making them desist from these notions. Far from him, indeed.


	5. V

“I’d have never imagined black would be _such_ a good fit on you,” Jaime tells her brother, and fine, it’s with a certain glee, but she thinks she can be forgiven for that.

She hadn’t even given two thoughts to Jon Snow’s decision regarding her brother’s fate – or she should say, Stark-Targaryen, since that’s how he goes these days. When he had sent Cersei to the Wall, saying that he had a feeling it would be a more suited punishment than letting his head roll, Jaime had just accepted that and moved on. She could see the logic in it – after all, Cersei never was one to mingle with commoners and a _lot_ of them went to the Wall thanks to his policies when it came to punishing minor crimes, so that _would_ have been punishment enough.

But now that she sees her brother, she thinks she has to compliment the king on it next time she sees him – it was a stroke of genius. Black is _not_ a good fit on Cersei at all, and the cold weather hasn’t helped with making his complexion any less pale, and he looks so thoroughly unhappy in it, Jaime can only think, _how the tables have turned, haven’t they_? After all, she had looked equally unhappy in red and gold.

“And I see you’re lowering yourself still,” he spits back, but he’s not stupid enough to come any closer – there are some four or five other kids who apparently made friends with Jon when he was hiding here who are nearby and warned Cersei that they were on orders to fire arrows at once if he came any closer to either his sister or the baby she’s holding in her arms.

Admittedly, Jaime had debated before bringing Jeyne with, but then again her father’s talking to the Lord Commander along with Robb Stark – they have messages from Jon to rely – and while she _could_ have left her in Winterfell… on one side, she’s loathe to.

On the other, she kind of did want to smear in her brother’s face that not only her cunt is _not_ anywhere near useless, but her daughter, other than being perfectly healthy and absolutely beautiful, has her father’s eyes and hair color – the type is more like Jaime’s.

( _Honest, she had wept in happiness when she had seen that she had blue eyes._ )

“Lowering myself? Oh, you mean _this_?” She turns, showing off her winter cloak in pale pink and blue. “It’s very comfortable. And warm. And pink looks good on me, I think. It also looks good on _her_.”

Cersei just glares at her. “ _Really_? That’s what you came here for?”

“That, too,” Jaime says. “Nice dress, isn’t it?”

It’s a _lovely_ dress, honest – it’s made for the northern weather, but it’s finely sewn, it’s also a lovely shade of pink and it _does_ fit Jeyne splendidly.

“I wouldn’t know.”

“It was a gift from Lady Stark. Admittedly, it wasn’t even the first – she’s been sewing her clothes since she was born, for some reason, but they’re so lovely, aren’t they?”

“Jaime, I don’t think you came here to _discuss_ Catelyn Stark’s choices when it comes to dressing – _that_ –”

“You can say _your daughter_ , Cersei, it won’t kill you.”

Cersei keeps his mouth shut. It’s such a pathetic scene Jaime kind of wants to laugh.

“Really? You can’t?”

“What’s your point of parading _it_ in my face?”

Jaime is _really_ beyond caring that someone else might hear. After all, half the realm probably guessed. “Merely showing you that I exist beyond _you_ , dear brother. Nothing more, nothing less. Oh, and that my cunt’s still holding its own, thank you.”

“So what do you want? _Congratulations_?”

“What? Of course not. I just wanted to make sure you know I’m happier _now_ than I ever was with you, if you ever try to delude yourself into thinking I’m not. And I hope that at least being stuck here means that you end up doing _some_ good.”

“As if being surrounded by vermin will ever turn into _that_.”

“ _That_ will get you nowhere, I fear. However, I think the two of us would rather go and see the view from the top of the Wall than lingering here. I honestly hope that at some point you manage to see that there’s an entire world beyond yourself, Cersei. I really do.”

“ _How_?”

“How, _what_?”

“How can you just – we could have had it _all_ if you just had listened to me.”

“You mean, you could have ruled the Seven Kingdoms while I waited on the side for scraps of your time?”

“They weren’t _scraps_! You’re the only woman I ever –”

“Stop right there. I’m not _anything_. You _thought_ that because you assumed I was the same as you. Too bad I realized too late that _I’m not_. Never mind that of course, _listening to you_ meant risking my life to give you children that I’d never even get to see? Are you even listening to yourself? Never mind that you’re assuming I actually cared for _having power_.”

“Didn’t you?”

“If I ever did, dear brother, I _wouldn’t_ have ever agreed to let you take the merit for Aerys. Have a nice life. Jon _Stark-Targaryen_ seems fairly sure that if you stop assuming you’re better than everyone else you make pretty great friends around here.”

Cersei snorts. “Coming from the only king who’s ever married a _wildling_.”

Ah, _that_. Jaime had laughed for a long time when news came that Jon was actually taking a wife, which happened to be a former wildling prisoner he met while at the Wall.

“Ygritte has things under control more than you or Lysa ever did, honestly.” Jaime met her a few times and honest, she’s exactly the kind of woman she gets along with splendidly. “And see, you’re really starting with the wrong foot. Goodbye, and for real this time.”

“Jaime, _wait_ –”

She turns her back on him, figuring some of Jon’s friends will make sure he doesn’t follow.

\--

The view at the top of the Wall is, admittedly, breathtaking.

She’s also not surprised to find Byrn and Robb Stark there already.

“Is your talk already over?” She asks, coming closer.

“No,” Stark sighs, “but he said this was the best time to see the sunset from the top so he said we could take it back up tomorrow. He was right, admittedly.”

“How – how did it go?” Byrn asks instead, sounding concerned – bless his neverending capacity for _concerning_ himself even when he knows there was no way it could go awry.

“Exactly as predicted. He can’t even seem to conceive I could have children with _someone else_. I’m afraid he’s a very poor asset, but – well, I just want him to know I don’t miss him. And now he does.”

“I hope he’s not going to try and do _anything_ later,” Byrn says, still looking fairly concerned.

“Doubtful,” Stark says, “I read that note Jon sent to your _guards_ , my lady. There’s _no way_ they’ll let anything happen.” Then he smirks. “That said, I have a feeling you two might enjoy some time on your own. If you do, I can take her for a short while.”

 _Well_ , Jaime considers, it could be an option, and she definitely trusts him around Jeyne – if there’s one thing she learned since Lady Catelyn came to take those gowns is that she doesn’t do things halfway. All of her children _did_ take it to the letter when it came to consider family any of her offspring, recognized or not, but – Jaime has a feeling Robb’s _really_ all his mother, and he _does_ honor the whole _family, duty, honor_ spiel, and he’s exceedingly good with his daughter, never mind that he was delighted at learning she was named after his brother.

(When Jaime told Ned Stark that she _was_ naming her daughter after the new king, he had looked flabbergasted. But of course she would. She thought about naming her after her mother, but it’s similar enough, and the _new king_ is the only reason she could have her in the first place.)

But right _now_ –

“I think it’s fine if it’s three of us, but we shall remember the offer,” Jaime tells him a moment later. He shrugs and takes his leave, telling Byrn he’ll know where to find him.

“So,” Jaime says, “ _nice view_ , isn’t it?”

Byrn moves so that he has an arm around her while she keeps Jeyne in the middle of them – she’s asleep at this point, and she doesn’t bother waking her up. “I think the view just on my left is _slightly_ better, but I’ll take this, too.”

“Flatterer,” Jaime replies, not minding at all the cold wind.

In between the three of them, she feels no cold whatsoever.


	6. VI

“This was not the way I thought I’d meet you again, _Ser_ ,” Cersei tells Byrn as the door leading beyond the Wall lifts.

“Let me guess,” Byrn says, “you had hoped we would not meet again at all, hadn’t you?”

“I _had_ , but I also should have known you _would_ rush like a goddamned idiot towards the chance of dying for honor,” Cersei spits back, and Byrn doesn’t even try to stop himself from laughing.

“You’re wrong on at least one account,” Byrn replies. “I’m here because I know I can fight and it’s my duty to protect the realm, but I have no intention to _die_.”

“Given what _we_ are apparently up against, I have a feeling you might be wrong.”

“Perhaps,” Byrn concedes, “but we are all armed with obsidian, we know what kills them, and not only I have no intention to die, I also have a _lot_ to go back to.”

“What, your pathetic little daughter?”

“Oh, so she’s _mine_ but not her mother’s? Don’t look so distraught, she _did_ tell me about that little conversation of yours. Anyway, she’d be part of it. The rest would be, my lady wife and… well, I suppose you’d call him my _pathetic little son_.”

Admittedly, Byrn _does_ have to keep himself from laughing further – no one around them would, given the seriousness of what they’re about to do here –, but Cersei’s absolutely flabbergasted expression kind of makes him want to, even if it’s hardly gallant or fair. He’s not the man who likes to kick someone who’s already down. It’s just really hard _not_ to when he still has nightmares about how that bruise on Jaime’s neck looked like.

“You have a _son_?” Cersei seems _particularly_ bothered by the fact.

“He just turned two before I had to leave. We named him after my grandfather – given that I wanted to be a _knight_ because of him, too, we both thought it was very appropriate.”

“I am _amazed_ that you thought this realm needed another _Ser Duncan_ ,” Cersei snorts, but it’s obvious he’s not relishing having this conversation.

“Ah, I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.”

They’ve started marching at this point, but they’re in the middle of the army – it’ll be a while before they pass through the door.

“It’s… not?”

“It looks like the one who might want to follow in my footsteps is my daughter. The pathetic one who looks like me. I am afraid Lady Stark is very saddened that she refuses to wear ladylike clothes. Her brother’s a lot quieter, for one. By the way, he looks like _her_.”

“Like – _her_?”

“Green eyes, golden hair, all curly. Seems like the one taking after _me_ was not him, but I think I shall live with it. Also, _Jaime_ might have threatened me.”

“ _Threatened_ you.”

“She said that if I only dared coming back dead she’d go find me in whichever afterlife the gods might have in store from us and proceed to have my hide. Knowing her, she _might_ pull that off and I am entirely not interested in seeing if she actually could.”

“It’s – I just – the more I speak to you, the more I just cannot bloody understand how she could ever look at you _twice_.”

“I am flattered,” Byrn snorts.

“It’s not your bloody _looks_. How does anyone even _not_ find you so incredibly, horribly _dull_ the moment you open your mouth?”

“My lord, that’s what _everyone_ ’s told me since I can remember. I suppose she’s of a different opinion, or that she doesn’t think it a fault. But _she_ definitely is not dull. Maybe opposites attract? Or is it that I don’t think she’s my property?”

At this point he’s being nagging it on purpose, and Cersei probably understood it because he just scoffs and says nothing until they march forward.

Byrn doesn’t bother rubbing the state of things in his face any longer, even if there _is_ a lot he could say on this specific matter. Neither of them says a thing for a long time.

“Part of me hopes you die,” Cersei tells him a long time later. They’re feet-deep in snow.

“I’m not surprised. I am more interested in learning what does _the other_ part hope.”

“The other part hopes _I_ do so I don’t have to wither here until my old age.”

“I was rather hoping it would hope I _wouldn’t_ die because that’s what Jaime would want, but I appreciate the honestly.”

Cersei scoffs. “I don’t care what she wants. Not anymore.”

“Did you ever?” Byrn asks softly, and maybe he would have gotten a reply. Maybe not.

He doesn’t get one because then they hear a screeching noise coming from the sky and –

_Are those bloody dragons?_

\--

“Can I ride the dragon? _Please_? Please?”

All things considered, Byrn thinks that if the damned _white walkers_ did not kill him, _his daughter_ will.

“Sweetling, I think you need to ask _Jon_ , not me,” he tells her, grabbing at her waist and making sure she doesn’t run towards any of those three beasts – Byrn is _plenty_ grateful that it turned out that there _was_ , in fact, another living Targaryen around who was only too happy to use them to wipe out the white walker menace and who was overjoyed to find out she still had family living, but he doesn’t know how the, well, _dragons_ , would take to anyone who’s not a Targaryen.

 _All right_ , the green one – Rhaegal? –, the one Daenerys gracefully let Jon borrow, has _definitely_ taken on to Ygritte _and_ everyone else named Stark, so he supposes immediate family counts, but he still would like to hear it from either Jon or Daenerys, and most of all, he’d like for Jon to volunteer so he’d know for sure Jeyne is not going to end up as dragon food at any point.

“So can we go ask Jon?”

“As soon as he’s out of the council,” Byrn promises, and that _does_ seem to at least placate Jeyne so that she doesn’t rush out of his arms and towards the damned green dragon, though all things considered he’s glad she likes Jon’s best – _because he’s the same color of her mother’s eyes_ or so she said – because he’s definitely the one who looks more approachable.

If it had been the black one…

He shudders and resolutely does _not_ consider that option.

“We should get ready for nuptials soon.”

“ _Whose_?” Byrn hadn’t heard Jaime coming but here she is, _definitely_ wearing garb she must have loaned off some black brother, but then again when he finally came back he found her at Castle Black with the rest of the Starks – they all hurried to reach it after the news about the dragons spread, along with a _lot_ of other noble families who sent men to fight the damned white walkers – and good thing that she had barely flinched at the fairly bad scar he got on his cheek while fighting.

(She merely said she was entirely fine with some minor maiming if it meant he came back alive, and then proceeded on showing him _exactly_ how much she meant it.)

She’s also carrying their son, who’s somehow managing to sleep through the entire goddamn mess that Castle Black is mid-morning.

“Sandor Clegane has just recounted for the fifth time about how he ended up killing twenty walkers at once. To Sansa Stark.”

“What – but he never told _any_ of that to anyone who’d ask while we were out there.”

“Apparently, she asks very convincingly. And she’s looking at him as if he’s some kind of hero, which I suppose he _is_ if he killed twenty of those things at once and saved the collective arses of some fifty way greener boys trailing after him, and Ned Stark was staring at the scene with the long-suffering expression of someone who _knows_ what’s going on. Just see if we shouldn’t get ready for the nuptials. I just hope Sansa doesn’t expect me to sew _her_ children any dresses because I don’t think I ever was that good.”

Well, _that_ wasn’t how Byrn had expected this entire matter to end, but he supposes there’s nothing bad in it as long as everyone is happy.

“That is, without counting either Robb Stark or _my_ brother.”

“What about them?”

“Stark is apparently _impressed_ with Asha Greyjoy’s fighting skills, since they did do some fighting around here, which is apparently turning into some kind of marriage that her father wouldn’t have agreed to, but he’s dead, so who cares.”

“I imagine Asha’s _brother_ is delighted of this turn of events?”

“You wouldn’t know how much. As far as my brother is concerned, he’s smitten with this lovely commoner who nursed those wounds he got fighting another wight in Castle Black. Turns out she’s actually from Lannisport and she had no idea he was, well, _her lord_. Our father will loathe it, which in turn makes me absolutely all in favor of this girl Tysha, honestly.”

“I imagine we should get ready to attend a lot of weddings,” he says, and he’s absolutely delighted of that prospect given that he accepted to join the mission assuming that at his return, should they succeed, he should be attending funerals instead.

“At least Asha Greyjoy would murder me if I tried to send her clothes for any offspring,” Jaime mutters before assuring Jeyne that they _will_ ask Jon about the dragon the moment he’s out of the council. Byrn is sort of sure that Jon _will_ agree, if only because he’s worse about denying the kid anything than his brother is, but at least if he does he _will_ get on that beast’s back with her and Byrn’s issues with this entire dragon riding idea would be cut in half, _at least_.

Of course, Jon goes down the stairs a moment later and Byrn doesn’t even attempt to hold Jeyne back – he lets her run. Good thing she goes towards _Jon_ and not the dragon.

“She _really_ is all you,” Jaime snorts. “Any other kid wouldn’t have _asked permission_ first.”

“Point taken,” he has to admit. _Good thing that_ or he’d have died of fright.

“It was a compliment,” Jaime says, sounding _delighted_ , and –

He takes a good look at her. She’s turning nine and thirty on her next name day, but you wouldn’t know – she looks barely older than she was when they married, with peace of the whisperers on their name day. _He_ definitely looks older than his years especially after these last few months, but looks were never a thing he concerned himself with.

And he’s still completely fucking head over heels from her in the same way he has been since they were introduced.

No, he thinks, he would change nothing.

And then he realizes _something else_.

“Look at it,” he says, “now _this_ is interesting.”

“What is?”

“We’re all standing in front of a magical barrier after having vanquished a supernatural foe, we have _dragons_ in front of us, and it’s after you saved the realm once, after I admittedly had a hand in overthrowing an unjust king and after managing to _not die_ in the process even if loving each other through it could have lost us our necks. You should find a singer and pay them to make a good song out of it or it’s really wasted.”

“Oh, _I_ should pay for it now?” She asks, but she’s smiling as she does.

“ _You_ are the one whose family comes from endless gold reserves, _my lady_.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” she agrees. “Well, I shall put my brother on it, he will certainly enjoy the search while he also might want to find someone who’d put into music his odes for the lovely Tysha.”

“What, he’s writing her _odes_?”

“Given how much he’s read in his life, they’re actually not half bad.”

“Please don’t sound too jealous of _Tysha_ , if I tried the result would be awful.”

“Don’t you worry, I think I wouldn’t trade your lack of skills in that field for anything else.”

Byrn thinks, _should I tell her of what her brother thought of my supposed dullness_?

Then he decides that it’s not worth it. Neither of them died, sadly for either parts of Cersei’s, and it’s obvious he still hasn’t understood where he went wrong. At this point, he’s not even angry anymore.

“Good, because no song would make justice to _you_ in the first place,” he tells her, and he thinks someone shouts at them that they _did_ understand they’re both relieved at being finally reunited and so on, but they don’t need to show the entire Night’s Watch, three dragons, an army of Unsullied and whoever else is around _exactly how much_.

Too bad for them that he can’t care less, and, he deduces from how Jaime kisses him back, neither can she.

End.


End file.
